Glassy Sky
by InvisibleGeek
Summary: Huey, Riley, Granddad and Jazmine have been through a lot, most of it fast paced absurdities that are dismissed by the end of the episode. One mistake, one lapse in judgment by the Young Revolutionary will shatter the comfortable structure of life in Woodcrest. Homes and families are lost, broken. New bonds made and old ones deracinated. Transcendentalism. Juey. Elton John.
1. Rumi

Chapter One

" _Leave me alone;_

 _leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,_

 _writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn._

 _Either stay and be forgiving,_

 _or, if you like, be cruel and leave._

 _Flee from me, away from trouble;_

 _take the path of safety, far from this danger._

 _We have crept into this corner of grief,_

 _turning the water wheel with a flow of tears."_

 _Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī_

Riley stood in front of his suburban home in Woodcrest, staring at the softly falling snow. It was dusk, a deep orange sky illuminating the thickly drifting snowflakes in a brilliant gold that shimmered and refracted through frosted prisms. He was drawn to the glittering color, and he looked about him with the starved eyes of a blinded man gifted sight. The world was gold too, the houses, the trees, even his bare feet which didn't flinch as the cold settled within them. It was a sight beautiful enough to bring tears to those with even the coldest of hearts, and the scene inarguably would've done the same to him, if it weren't for the silent dread building up intangibly.

He shook his young, barley rounded head. He must be delusional, tripping, because nothing could ever be wrong in a world as wonderful as this.

Sudden impulse drove him to lift his calloused feet, and walk in a trance-like state down the dimly golden street. His movements left clear, impressionable footprints in the otherwise unmarred snow, ones which were quickly filled behind him. All was well, for one mustn't taint the resplendent world.

As he moved, his focus lessened on the monochromatic colors of the evening, and turned instead to the awaiting home. The door swung abandoned, open, without thought of preventing the cold drifts of air from creeping into the house. It should've been dark, Riley felt, it should've been black and wrong because that heinous sticky feeling of dread was seeping out of the creaking doorway like syrup, and it seemed he would drown. Despite his fear his limbs in all their pure, untouched nakedness weren't his, and he entered the golden, horrible household.

The inside was lost in dark shadows, and through slitted blinds the golden light drifted, striping the walls and Riley as he walked. Occasionally a wasp would buzz by him, blackened wings stirring the chilled air over his bare shoulders and chest, rushing further into the house with destructive, alien intent.

For the first time since he stepped inside he wondered where everyone was, and a sharp turn towards the sunless stairs took away his sight. It was too dark, and his stumbling form must've stubbed his toes six times before he made it to the second floor. The only light was what poured in through the bedroom windows, and he peered through each empty doorway as he passed. The photographs on the walls were coated with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, making their depictions indiscernible. He swallowed, and the sound echoed around loudly. He noticed how quiet it was, unnaturally so, and he nervously inhaled the dread soaked air. It choked him, and despite his coughing and sputtering and murmured protests he entered the last room, the source of it all.

Inside there was a woman, her form outlined in light as she stood before the window. The sun made her curls near transparent, and as such they shone with gold. Riley couldn't breathe, couldn't move, only watch with panicked eyes as she slowly turned, tears streaming down her face and glimmering in the still air.

"Riley…" She gasped, seemingly unable to inhale through her trembling lips and reddened nose.

He was scared, something he hated to admit, and he wanted to run as far away as his eight-year old legs would take him, through the hall, down the stairs, across the house, past the yard, down the street, further and further until the image that filled his vision was gone. No matter how hard he strained against the futility of it all he couldn't escape, and so he was forced to look into those wrongly saddened eyes that paled those of the downtrodden.

He didn't know her, she was too old, a teenager who he hadn't ever seen before. Her features were barely discernible in the light, but he knew he didn't know anyone that horribly sad, salt water dribbling from her nose and chin, arms wildly scrubbing away at the moisture.

She reached out to him, desperately, fair features twisted with remorse. "Don't let me lose you too, please.." She choked on her words, crying out and grabbing at her chest as though it pained her. Suddenly he found his strength, his voice, and he charged forward, leaping into the delicate woman's transparent arms and out through the window. Glass fell as he did, glimmering with the light of a sun which had before seemed so beautiful; floating tears refracting the pain of the woman who mercilessly stole his contentment with the raw world.

Just before he hit the pavement, he awoke, shooting up forward in bed and flailing comically in his sheets, as though trying to slow his nonexistent descent.

It was still morning, blue light barely filling the shared bedroom. To his right lay his brother, still sleeping with his back to the younger Freeman. The silhouette of his exceptionally large afro was lost in the shadows, and normally Riley would've laughed.

His young fists tightened in his sheets, distressed features twisted in a grimace.

 _Normally_ he would sleep in well past the sun's arrival, and _normally_ he wouldn't fight these dreams as restlessly as he had been for as long. They weren't scary looking back, but he knew they were getting worse. No matter what decision he made within the dream, it always ended with him falling, be it through the floor or out a window. Once, he succeeded in calming her, only to look into her eyes and fall into their golden hued depths. A shiver worked its way down his spine and he found himself looking hopefully at Huey, an awakening question poised on his lips. Albeit he instead closed his mouth, shaking his head and crawling out of bed.

If he told Huey about these dreams, he would belittle them and tell him to get over it, despite any sympathy he might feel. After all, there are others going through events far more traumatizing. If he were to tell Granddad, the old man would simply laugh at his childish nightmare. It was likely nothing in comparison to what they dreamt about, and Riley didn't wish to act like a pathetic little kid who still, on occasion, wet the bed.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and went into the hallway bathroom, scowling as he shut the door. There he was met with his glaring reflection, shoulders barely seen above the sink. "I can't be seen actin' like a bitch ass little kid, cause I'm a real nigga little kid. We dont's have dreams about cryin' bitches, we dreams about stompin' bitches and keepin' our paper. Cause that's how we do." He then proceeded to smile cockily, almost convincing himself behind the tired eyes and worn features. His exhausted state made his gaze hard to meet, guilt washing against his consciousness as though his nightmares were his happier self's doing.

Riley sighed and proceeded to brush his teeth, wishing silently that something would change. He was too young to worry about lack of sleep, he was supposed to be living free and creating a name for himself before he reaches the confines of adulthood. He washed out his mouth and ran the facet, dimly hoping nobody bugged him today and forgetting about the dream.

He left the bathroom and nearly ran into a groggy Huey, who glared menacingly at him and entered the restroom, mumbling political profanities to himself over the rudeness of the new generation. Riley didn't think he'd ever understand his oddly driven sibling, who seemed to understand everything himself. The door slammed, and the younger Freeman wiped his brow, still sweaty and slightly shaken from his nightmare. He winced, inwardly reminding himself not to think about that as wet, broken eyes appeared in his vision. It was just too hot, he decided, Grandad's discontent old self shutting off the A.C. in an attempt to make everyone just as miserable as he.

The Freeman approached the stairs, then grinned proudly at his genius as he sat on the railing. He slid down, an instant breeze cooling his sweat soaked face. Just before his small form collided with the post he leaped off, throwing himself to the ground where he landed with a loud thud. Sudden pain hummed in his leg, and he laughed it off, picking himself up from the floor. A loud, irritated shout rang through the home. " _Boy!_ " Other than a slight wince at the volume, Riley didn't react to the sound, walking to the kitchen and swinging open the fridge. The cold air washed over his pajama adorned body and he shivered, wine eyes scanning for a fight provoking beverage that has long plagued the Freeman family. Spotting it, he lifted the carton and twisted off the cap, a tilt of his head sending the tangy beverage past his smirking lips and down his parched throat. A flicker of unpleasant bitterness, where the remnants of toothpaste met the golden drink, washed down his throat away from his grimacing taste buds.

Just as he swallowed and pulled the container from his lips, his muttering Grandfather rounded the corner, tying his robe. The man froze with a gasp, eyes widening at the misbehavior so early in the morning. He hadn't even made coffee yet!

Riley snickered at his horrified Grandfather, and, licking his lips, he put the drink away. "Morning Granddad." He greeted, figuring his stunned elder wouldn't react if he tried to walk past him. Albeit he figured wrong, and with the second enraged cry of "Boy!" for the day, the old man quickly grabbed his arm and proceeded with hitting him repeatedly upside the head.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to drink my expensive orange juice? That is a full days' worth of vitamin C taken right from under my nose! What am I gonna do about my missing Vitamin C? Do you want me to get scurvy? I ain't no damned pirate!"

The eight year old struggled to break free from his iron grasp, crying out each time he was struck.

"And now the damn container has had your nasty ass lips all over it, I swear, it's like you've been wanting a beating all week. Drawing on your classroom windows, pulling cutie-pie Cindy's hair, shoot."

He stopped hitting the now crying child, hands on his hips. "There had better be a good explanation for this, and you're gonna start the explaining."

While the irate yet concerned guardian listened his grandson's rambled mess of nonsense excuses, shouts of anger rang outside, originating from a large, albeit bland household. Inside was the source of the noise, an interracial married couple arguing profusely. Although the neighborhood was used to these rowdy fights, they usually took place in the evening, not when the sun just broke the horizon. The Dubois' were typically morning people, which was why this oddly timed conflict shook the prestigious neighborhood of well-kept lawns and polished bird feeders.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU THOMAS! I thought you of all people would know better!" Sarah Dubois yelled, blonde hair flying as she shook her head in disappointment. She was a stern but pretty woman, who seemed to be discontent with anything and everything her lawyer husband said or did. Currently her fair face was twisted with anger, and her soft voice strained at her forced volume. The victim of her verbal assault resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing it would only anger her further. Why she insisted on yelling at absurd volumes rather than talking out their problems eluded him, yet he always was reeled into her arguments. This one was serious, however, because it concerned their only child, Jazmine.

"Sarah calm down and let talk this out!" He tried, buttoning his white dress shirt. She turned around in their bedroom and slammed the dresser drawers shut, the violently shaking furniture banging against the beige wall. She groaned, tossing her hands into the air and jabbing a finger at her husband. "Oh no, not this time Tom. You are going to fix this!"

He tossed his pillows back on his now made bed, straightening them out. "And just how do you propose that Sarah? We'd have more money if it wasn't due to your sudden love for vacationing."

She scoffed, blue eyes narrowed in outrage. "Don't try to shift the blame onto me, you know you screwed up. You're going to destroy her future with all you've been donating." She reached into his closet and pulled out a yellow tie, throwing it onto the bed behind her for her husband to retrieve.

As she searched for a cardigan to match her striped dress he adorned it, tying it as angrily as he could without choking himself. "The charity donations? I thought that was a good thing, you approved that!"

His now fully dressed wife went into their shared bathroom, checking her makeup in the mirror and messing with her hair. She glared at his watching reflection behind her, straightening herself. "Once, Tom. Once. Not every month of the year! And this isn't even the whole of it, to make matters worse, you just had to tell our dear neighbor Robert about the Cook Off, didn't you!"

"Seriously!" Tom exclaimed, slipping on his shoes. He began tying the laces while he spoke, voice deepened from the odd, bent over position. "You're mad about that? Robert's a phenomenal cook, he deserves to have a place in the Woodcrest Spring Fling."

"That's the point Tom, you never seem to consider how your big mouth is going to affect me. I actually had a chance at winning this year with Mrs. Johnson visiting her son in Florida, and you had to take that win away from me." She sighed, leaning against the bathroom counter. "I'll always be second place." She muttered, a bitter taste in her mouth as she looked up into the blinding ceiling lights.

He swallowed, finishing tying the last shoe. She was wrong, he did think about how she would feel, only he had assumed she be glad. She seemed to enjoy cooking with Robert during the holidays, and he certainly liked it when she cooked some of his recipes. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Robert was open to it when he brought it up, the old man did enjoy the attention. Albeit it was clear that his wife didn't want to hear any of that, so after a moment's consideration he spoke. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'll do my best to fix this."

Sarah's blonde head snapped back to him, face scrunched in a loathing scowl. _Right,_ Tom thought. _She hates it when I apologize._

Tom braced himself for another verbal attack, only to be met with silence. Sarah simply sighed and applied her perfume, the clouds of vapor misting her neck and wrists, dissolving at contact. She didn't continue their argument, however angry she still may be, and opening their bedroom door she progressed down the hall. Her soft voice traveled across the wood floors, and as a result her husband heard her knock on their daughter's door. "Jazmine sweetie," She cooed, acting as though she wasn't previously waking up the neighborhood with her screeched discontentment. "It's time to wake up." She opened the door to her daughter's room and Tom could make out laughter, Jazmine pleasantly surprised by her Mother's cheerful intrusion. Tickling likely commenced, and with a sigh Tom stood and made his way down stairs. He couldn't stay mad at his wife, for she somehow had enough love in her heart to be kind to their child despite any frustration she might feel. She was truly a remarkable woman when she wanted to be.

Perhaps he should bring flowers on his way home from work.

Reaching the kitchen he poured himself a second cup of coffee for the morning, opening the tall fridge and pulling out french vanilla creamer. His actions were purely driven from habit, seeing as he and his wife's argument had woken him up plenty. Still, he had a new client coming in today and he wanted to be at 100%.

Jazmine, now fully dressed, bounded down the wooden staircase and into the kitchen, her signature nutmeg pigtails bouncing. "Good Morning Daddy!" She cheerily greeted, hugging her father who inwardly thanked the Good Lord above for keeping her asleep during his and his wife's fight. It's not like she hasn't heard them argue before, but Tom felt it was wrong for a child to begin their day with a silent burden like that.

She unwrapped her arms from his waist, smiling as she opened the fridge. "So what's the plan for today Daddy?" Her rounded nose hooked upwards and she reached for the milk carton, cooled air dusting her freckled cheeks.

"Peaches, your Mother and I have to go to work." He turned to her now disappointed face, her jade eyes wide and pleading, he knowing she had wanted to spend the day with them.

He knelt down, putting both hands on her small shoulders. The pink frills from her shirt bent beneath his palms, rubbing against her lowered chin. "But it's the last day of spring break before the weekend..." She murmured, clearly disappointed. "And you promised we would have family time..."

He smiled in the face of her frown and said, "And we will, I cross my heart. But guess what? You get to stay with the Freeman's all day today! Does that sound fun?" She squirmed inwardly, humming as she considered the offered compromise. Settling on a decision, she grinned a toothy grin, nodding. "I can play with Huey all day." She said as a matter of fact, clearly pleased with the thought.

Thomas didn't fully understand why they were such good friends, but he figured his daughter's curiosity had to be a part of it. She hadn't ever met anyone like Huey (neither had he if Tom was being honest with himself), but it was better than her spending all her time with foul mouthed Riley, whose poor behavior had worsened of late.

"That's right sweetie, just behave yourself and try to stay out of Riley's way."

That bright smile of hers which rivaled sunshine grew, and she nodded happily, pulling out a box of cereal from the pantry. "Yes Daddy."

She turned away, leaving her Father unaware of the guilt vining darkly into her expression.

 ** _[glassy.sky]_**

Skipping pleasantly, Jazmine made her way to the Freeman home, hands tightly clutching her new IPod. She didn't want to risk it breaking, but thought it to be a good idea to bring over to the Freeman's anyhow. She needed something to entertain herself with just in case Huey was still mad at her over yesterday. The ten year old didn't mention her conflict with her friend to her parents because she didn't want them to worry. They had been fighting so much lately, it didn't seem right to bother them with petty things. She slowed as she neared the large, neighboring house, the flower bed overloaded with spring daffodils.

Subconsciously paranoia driven, she looked down at her digital device, running her nail painted thumbs along the side. The early sun shone across the darkened touch screen, and she tilted it to see her reflection. With her wild hair constantly pulled tightly away from her face, she always felt she looked plain, despite her Mother's constant assurances of her beauty.

Jazmine sighed and raised her jade eyes towards the house. Huey's blinds were shut, hiding the contents of his shared bedroom.

She walked to the large, wooden front door and knocked, her soft tapping resonating throughout the home. She felt a sudden flare of fear clouding her rational thoughts. She bit her lip and held her iPod tighter beneath white knuckles, hoping Huey wouldn't answer the door. She could feel the weight of his impending gaze already; that hardened stare as though her very existence insulted him.

The ten year old girl shook the chills from her form, forcing a small smile as the door abruptly opened, revealing an irritated looking Riley. "It's just Jazmine!" He yelled into the home, turning sharply on his heel and leaving her alone in the open door. Looks like his attitude hadn't improved any.

She shut the door behind her and kicked off her sandals, wondering just what to do with herself. Mr. Freeman stood behind the counter in the kitchen, talking irritably to himself as he prepared his breakfast. Riley sat in front of the TV, seeming extremely bored as he surfed through their many channels. She had been coming over so frequently as of late it wasn't necessary to make a big deal of it. In fact, she was normally ignored. Huey wasn't anywhere in sight, which meant he was likely somewhere on the second floor.

Jazmine took in a deep breath of air and marched up the stairs, turning sharply to the left towards the open door at the end of the hall. She would pretend everything was normal and see if he was still mad, and if he wasn't then everything would be okay. She was so focused on maintaining normalcy she didn't notice when she walked past the older Freeman brother, who silently watched her dutiful trudging. A few more determined steps and she froze, realizing her mistake and slowly turning to look at her quiet friend.

He had one eyebrow raised questioningly, a glint of humor in his wine colored orbs. Albeit he didn't smile, that was a neglected practice he took into hard consideration. She blushed in embarrassment, hands shooting to cover her mouth where a squeak of surprise had escaped.

"Morning Jazmine." He routinely greeted in his monotone voice, walking past her and into his shared bedroom. Without hesitation she followed her friend, carefully stepping over Riley's systematic mess until she reached the tidy half of the room. Huey's neatly hung poster's glowered down at her, the eyes of Malcolm X and Ernesto "Che" Guevara staring into her small form. She shifted uncomfortably and looked elsewhere. Beneath their iconic pictures were shelves packed tightly with books. They weren't alphabetically organized, but the afro headed ten year old undoubtedly had his own personal system. She felt him watching her and guilty moved her gaze to the floor, remembering why she didn't want to be reminded of those books.

She heard him sigh and glanced up, listening attentively to his words. "Stop acting like a kicked puppy, I'm not mad at you." He sat at his desk, the blue light from the computer screen reflecting off the bottom of Malcolm X's hand and shoulders, glaring across the glossy paper. Huey's dark eyes flicked over to her, waiting a reply, then returned to the screen. Relief flooded and she smiled, barely resisting the urge to hug her wonderful, forgiving friend as tightly as she could. "Oh Huey! Thank you so much! I thought you'd never forgive me and I'd end up having to spend the rest of my life alone with no friends."

Tears began to slide down her cheeks with her overly dramatic words of gratitude and he shifted uncomfortably, wishing she would stop. "Jazmine!" He interrupted sternly, brows furrowed over his glare. "Pull yourself together, I said I wasn't mad and that's the end of it." She smiled in the face of his scowl, nodding with obedience and scrubbing at her dampened cheeks.

Still sniffling slightly, she moved closer to the desk and asked, "What're you looking at?" She tried to read the digitized words from over his shoulder, standing on her bare tiptoes curiously, but found it incredibly boring and full of words big enough to make her head spin. Not that she'd ever say that aloud, it would give her large haired friend too much satisfaction.

"Nothing." He said, and with a click of his mouse he closed the page, his stark, red star wallpaper staring back at her disappointed eyes, glazed across the glassy surface. She lowered her jade gaze, the elation from before fading away like the heat from a fire spat spark, drifting for seconds before dissolving into ash.

So he was mad after all.

Jazmine's eyes traveled to the one spot she had been avoiding, the thin, black spined book resting tenderly on Huey's nightstand. Although they weren't defined as they were in yesterday's afternoon light, she could make out the worn edges and slightly warped pages from past water damage. The corners were fuzzed and softened from onyx to gray from many falls and roughened hands, nicking the first few pages. The cover had no title, which was what irritated her in the first place; it's deeply embedded, gold emblem of hands cupped miniature humans who danced like flames.

The sun glinted across the cover and she found herself reliving yesterday's uncomfortable events, sitting beneath the large, twisted oak tree which was just beginning bud early spring leaves. The wind lazily swept through the park, twisting through greening grass, its breeze still carrying the biting sting of winter despite the nearing sun.

Huey was sitting with his back against the trunk, reading silently. Whenever he needed to turn the page he did so painfully slow, something which irked the bored ten year old beside him. She didn't speak, knowing he wanted silence, but the effort to constrain her wild thoughts built up intense frustration within her, and she watched each of his movements for a sign of any desire to play with her. Brows unfurrowed, he lowered the book into his lap, eyes closed with thought. There was a strange kind of peace in his expression, the almost constant creases around his eyes smoothed and unseen.

Jazmine leaned forward a bit to look at the worn pages, ever an opportunist, only to be disappointed in their familiar texture. The way the pages have wrinkled from wear, the soft corners where gentle hands have attempted to smooth out old dog ears, she had seen this particular book before. She didn't understand why he would read the same thing all the time, especially something seemingly so boring. It had pictures at least, but they were all faded drawings of naked people, and she felt it wrong to look at them.

"Jazmine..What are you doing?" Likely sensing her heavy stare, the older Freeman brother opened his eyes, the slight daylight making them glint like darkened almandine, irritation glimmering in the facets. Awkwardly she leaned back, skin heated from beneath in mild embarrassment. Her stare met the grass smothered beneath her sandaled feet, finding distracting wonderment in the stark border of shadow and light the thin blades shared.

"I was just, wondering what you were reading..." She quietly murmured, unsure of herself. He said nothing, and the ten year old girl took a deep breath, raising her volume by a hair. "And I was also thinking, I mean it would be nice . . . if I could read it too, since you like it so much." It was a gamble, but maybe he'd let her borrow it and she could read it then pretend she loved it; giving the pair something to talk about. She sighed, picturing the scowl he undoubtedly wore. It would give a reason for the constantly downturned corners of Huey's thin lipped mouth towards the sky. And who knows, maybe her falsified joy would turn genuine when met with the words he carried so very close.

"No." He dismissed, closing the book just as she raised her gaze.

To his surprise her timid stare hardened, clearly offended. "Why not?" Jazmine demanded, suspicious of his reasons.

Albeit the ten year old boy wasn't deterred, and he glared right back. "Because you aren't actually interested, that's why."

She put her hands on her hips. "How dare you! I am too interested."

"Really? If that's true then why won't you read any of the other books I recommend, some of which are by the same author?"

She was stumped by his argument, vaguely remembering several times she'd dismissed his offered books, stating that they were, and would always be boring. "Well this time I really want too. So you should stop being stingy and share."

He raised an eyebrow, superiority communicated through his posture. "You think insulting me will change my mind?"

A thin opportunity presented itself with the passing of a breeze; his grip slackened. . .he wasn't paying attention. She lunged forward, reaching desperately for the book, fingers outstretched. He lifted it away from her grasp and let her fall to the rooted soil, frowning. "Nice try." He deadpanned, unfazed.

Ignoring her now scraped palms which hissed in their minor, subsequent pain, Jazmine grit her teeth, pushing herself up. "Why can't you just let me look? Do you think I won't understand it? That I'm not smart enough!?"

He shrugged, squinting into the park below. "You said it, not me."

She narrowed her jade eyes, looking down at her hands. The curved, leaflet shadows from the warped tree above danced hypnotically across them, the blades of grass stirring with her each, subtle, movement. Huey was the only person she knew who could get her this aggravated, who could belittle her every spoken word and unspoken thought. He would mock her not for twisted pleasure but for the sake of mocking, all the while claiming to be whom she should aspire to be. What hurt most is that, in a way, she did look up to her large haired friend.

She stood, fighting tears. "You're too mean Huey! Why do you act like you're better than me? What puts you so far above everyone?" Her nutmeg curls pooled up around her head, tickling the thin bridge of her nose as they loosened from her ponytail.

"Nothing." He stuttered, clearing his throat. "I'm no different from anyone else, aside from the fact that I think before I speak." He thrust his free hand into his pocket, fidgeting with the spare change inside and avoiding her gaze.

"You sure don't act like it." She spat. "You think you're the only person who deserves anything good in life, and that you know everything, but it frustrates you that nobody cares what a little kid thinks. Because that's what you are; a stupid kid who thinks he's grown."

For once, her words got to him, she could see in his eyes, and she couldn't deny the small amount of pleasure it gave her. Beneath all her hot anger was enjoyment in watching him squirm. That victorious feeling was squashed in the next instant, however, as his eyes narrowed dangerously, flames of rage lighting their dark hues. She flinched and stepped back, expecting to be at the other end of his wrath, (which was a first), the side which left many kids injured and crying.

Instead, Huey turned on his heel and left, making his way angrily home.

She had tried to follow him, to apologize, but he wouldn't acknowledge her presence, slamming the door in her face as he entered his house. Never before had he shut her out like that, ignoring her despite the many tears and apologies. She had really feared her friendship was ruined, and though it seemed he was willing to move on, it was clear he hadn't yet let go.

 _Dummy._ She inwardly reprimanded, stomach sinking. _Of course he's still mad, you would be too._

During her reflection into yesterday's occurrences, Huey had left the room, probably to watch the news. For some reason he felt it important to know what was happening all across the world, and because of this desire he surrounded himself in digital and tangible sources of the headlines. Jazmine felt it to be overly tedious, and didn't understand why he seemed so devoted to something he vocally deemed corrupt.

She looked about the room once more, guilt and loneliness tugging the tides of her well-being. She would have to tiptoe around the subject of their conflict, and patiently await the return of normalcy.

 ** _[glassy.sky]_**

Thomas Dubois sighed, sinking deeper into his leather office chair. In his hands he held a proposed case, one which would make or break his career. He let the paper fall softly to the desk, rubbing his dry eyes.

The frequently elected Governor was a role model to society, someone to look up to, if you ignored the rumors of adultery and lobbying, and Ed Wuncler had personally requested Thomas to defend the Governor's son. This marked the fifth time the twenty three year old had been charged with drug possession, and the third with petty theft. The odds were against him, but with the many connections the Governor had and the never ending supply of money, it would be a simple matter to lessen the charge, if not strip his record clean entirely.

This case reeked of corruption, so much so he felt the film of it coat the roof of his mouth. He was hoping to avoid things like this as a lawyer, especially since he had made the personally difficult change from prosecutor to defense attorney. Normally he would say no as politely as possible, offend anyone he had to, and go on his merry way.

His brown eyes flicked over to the framed picture on his desk, his beautiful smiling wife and daughter laughing as they played. His thumbs rubbed the edge of the fallen page, the sliding motion slicing thinly into his skin, leaving a stinging paper cut.

The extra money though, it tempted him more than he would care to admit.

He leaned back, sticking the tip of his bleeding thumb into his mouth and sucking absently on it, relieving the pain. It was probably the second worst decision he had made in his life, and if he chose to do so he didn't think he could forgive himself.

He reached across his desk and lifted the phone, bringing it to his ear as he dialed an all too familiar number. As it rang, he looked down at his brightly colored tie, the one his wife had both purchased and picked out. He had always hated it, the mustard color seeming to reek of poor professionalism, but Sarah insisted it to be the height of fashion.

"Ed Wuncler's office." A bright female secretary chimed, pen at the ready to write down anything important he might say.

Meanwhile back at Wuncler subdivisions, the grandfather and sole caretaker of the Freemen boys was internet chatting a very lovely white woman. Her picture was extremely filtered, making her freckles disappear and her blonde locks turn platinum. He wasn't too interested in her face, however, her low cut top drawing his perverted eye more than anything else.

The conversation was just small talk, neither wanting to indulge in their personal lives more than necessary. She had kept him entertained with her quick replies and occasional selfies for weeks, and her name was Ashley Higgins.

Robert couldn't place it, but something about her features was familiar, somewhere beneath the filters and makeup. It didn't bother him too much, however, because he had seen many different faces on the internet since it's installment into his life.

He had probably run into her profile before, nothing else.

 ** _[glassy.sky]_**

Riley pulled his most prized possession from the garage and into the sunlight, doing his daily inspection of its condition. It was late afternoon and, as soon as Granddad forgave his earlier misbehavior, he was permitted to venture outside. Naturally this excited him, but the happiness he felt faded away as he continuously fought off his body's desire for sleep. Perhaps riding his bike would help, but he couldn't do that until he was sure that it looked better than brand new.

Kneeling down, he rubbed his fingers along a smudge, diligently scrubbing away at the blemish.

As much as he enjoyed Christmas mayhem and icy pranks, he was excited for the warming of spring, needing only a light jacket as the school year waned. The only thing keeping the weather from perfection was the drought, the fruitless sky offering nothing despite anxious eyes questioning it.

Finished, he skillfully mounted the bicycle, practiced movements lurching him forward and away from the driveway. The cool air brushed his exposed face and hands, and Riley smiled genuinely, ignoring the slight metallic clanging from his shifted bookbag. There wasn't anything he found more peaceful than riding his bike.

Around him were many people, either returned from work or on break, who chatted and gardened and cleaned, preparing for summer and enjoying the weather. Children laughed, playing wildly but at a safe distance from their parents, staying within sight. Bikes and scooters echoed loudly off the garage doors, screeches of pleasure bubbling from their open mouths as they chased one another.

Golden flakes of snow flashed in Riley's eyes, the memory of this empty street corrupting his mood.

He stopped his bike, feet planted on the ground and arms rested across the handle bars. He lowered his head into the comfort of his blue sleeves, eyes open yet unseeing. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape his nightmares. They were as much a part of him as his shadow, waning and waxing with the light of day.

The girl's tears rolled down her cheeks, overflowing.

He needed an outlet, some form of trouble he could cause to distract him. He began anxiously tapping his foot, brows furrowed darkly as his gaze shifted towards his bag. Granddad would kill him.

Glass fell like snow, drifting as the pavement rushed towards him.

A voice broke into his thoughts, forcing him to raise his head in acknowledgement of the newcomer. "Afternoon Riley, is something wrong?" Mrs. Dubois stood beside him, a stack of envelopes in her thin hands as she retrieved the mail. He wasn't sure what she did for a living, nor did he care, but whatever it was allowed her to come home ridiculously early. Riley scowled, shaking his head. "I uh..I was, just thinking about how your food look like throw up, yeah, and it made me feel nauseous. Why you gotta cook so bad it haunt niggas Mrs. Dubois?" Riley stopped his tangent before it began, no matter how far he wanted to take the insults. His glare softened, and he looked at the ground, knowing his heart just wasn't in it.

Sarah seemed to sense this, and she put a comforting hand on his shoulder, ignoring the look he shot her. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. You know that right?"

He shook her off, righting himself on his bike. He felt cornered, she had seen too much. She knew something was bothering him despite his efforts to hide it. Had he really become this weak? His small hands gripped his handlebars tightly, irritation forcing him to lash out. "You gay Mrs. Dubois! Is this what you get a kick out of? Making little kids talk about their feelings like some wack ass therapist?"

She took a step back, startled. "R-Riley!"

He raised his voice. "That's sick Mrs. Dubois! You sick! I can't believe I have to defend myself from perverts in my own neighborhood! Does Mr. Dubois know?"

Her thin brows furrowed, blue eyes narrowing. "That's enough-"

"Fuck you Mrs. Dubois!" He interrupted, fully aware of the many eyes on him. He was making a scene. "Stay away from me!" One strong kick and he sped away, rims spinning shinily, leaving the flustered and embarrassed mother alone in the street to fend off the awkward stares from the now silent neighbors.

 ** _[glassy.sky]_**

Tom entered his gold painted key into the door, struggling to unlock it as usual. The sun was just beginning to set, and the shadows lengthened towards the darker end of the sky. The rose bushes to his side casted shadows across him, dividing the house between the symmetry of night and day.

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and turned to greet the newcomer. It was none other than the infamous Woodcrest fifth grader, Huey Freeman, whose family seemed to attract trouble like honey did flies. "Hi-ya Huey!" The local lawyer greeted, all smiles despite his frustration with his key. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

He looked up at him, wine eyes glistening with betrayal beneath his anger. When he spoke his voice was clear and demanding, conveying to Tom just how he felt, stirring swells of guilt and irritation within the man. He knew just what the self-proclaimed revolutionary wanted to discuss, and it shattered his mood completely, the grin withering away. How did he find out so quickly? It must've been Wuncler's doing.

"What happened to standards Mr. Dubois? To decency! Think of the example you're setting by allowing yourself to fall victim of bribery over unjust cases! Is this the kind of person you want Jazmine to admire? Some Uncle Tom whose resolve crumbles in the face of the enemy over a few hundred dollars! You-"

"I'm doing this for Jazmine Huey!" He cried, interrupting the tangent the child had begun. Who was he to accuse him of lowering his standards, and the Uncle Tom comment was uncalled for. "You wouldn't understand, you aren't a parent. You don't have to worry over the future of your child, the only thing that matters. I suggest you stop talking like you know everything and leave other's private affairs private." Tom's outburst left him winded, anger fading away with his mild burst of adrenaline. He never did like to shout, too much emotion, he became drained. He took in Huey's startled expression, and reminded himself once more that this was a kid he was addressing, not the inner objections he had oppressed within himself. He knelt down, putting his hands on the ten year old's tense shoulders. "The world isn't black and white Huey, there isn't a simple solution to everything, and we sometimes have to make tough decisions to stay upright. You'll understand that one day."

Huey shook the man's hands off of him, backing away. His intense glare disturbed Tom, and he quickly looked away under its weight as the Freeman spat his response. "No, I won't. I find it hard to understand why adults feel the intense need to complicate matters of utmost simplicity. If it's wrong it's wrong, Mr. Dubois, and that's the end of it. Speak to me with that damned condescending tone again, and I may have to bring up these bribes to the Governor in a very public fashion, ruining your reputation and your career." He began to haughtily walk away, heat practically radiating from his proud little form. "The media would love that," He called over his shoulder. "It is his son you're defending, after all."


	2. Leda and the Swan

Chapter Two

" _A shudder in the loins engenders there  
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower  
And Agamemnon dead.  
_ _Being so caught up,  
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,  
Did she put on his knowledge with his power  
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?" _

_\- Leda and the Swan, W.B. Yeats_

Huey slammed the front door behind him, fists clenched as he began to pace back and forth.

Granddad was out on a date, and because of the fact there wasn't any necessity in hiding his anger. About an hour ago, Ed the third, the Grandson of Mr. Wuncler, had come over looking for Riley. A slip of the foul mouthed idiot's tongue alerted the self-proclaimed revolutionary of Thomas' recent decision. Huey admittedly knew nothing about the case, but immediately looked into the matter because of Wuncler's apparent involvement. He was disgusted by what he discovered, and immediately went outside to confront the man. Despite their different political beliefs, and Tom's abrasive dorkiness, he had always had a high opinion of the African American lawyer, knowing him to be a much greater role model than anyone else in his hectic life.

He swallowed, ceasing his tense movements and grinding his teeth. Was everyone corrupt? Would he too one day abandon his morals for the petty, self serving desire of financial security? The afro-headed child crossed his arms in an effort to stop their shaking. Can everyone be bought?

The sound of footsteps clamoring down the wooden stairs caught his attention, and he turned to find Jazmine watching him nervously. She held onto the polished railing for security, lips pulled into a tight line. She had her Father's nose, whether she realized it or not, and a part of Huey wanted to take out his frustration on her because of the slight resemblance. He closed his eyes, turning away from the ten year old girl and taking a deep breath.

 _Calm down._ He told himself, ignoring the weight of her silent, inquiring stare. _Jazmine has nothing to do with this._ With a heavy sigh he turned towards her, liquid almandine lightening his dark eyes. "I'm fine." He deadpanned, allowing no room for continued conversation over his behavior. He had been cold towards her throughout the day, and admittedly a small portion of him was still upset by their argument. Albeit he knew it was pointless, and did his best to move on, surprised by her desire to do the same.

The mixed girl offered him a small smile, swaying slightly as she clutched the stair railing. "Do you wanna listen to music?" She suggested, jade eyes locked onto his tense form. "It always helps Mommy calm down." Her small fingers tapped the wood anxiously, alerting him of just how greatly she feared his rejection.

"Sure Jazmine," He sighed, taking a step forward to stand beside her. "But I get to pick the songs."

Her jaw lowered, mildly offended as he uncaringly made his way past her and to the second floor. "How come?" She whined, nutmeg curls bouncing as she ran to catch up.

He rolled his eyes, impulse driving him to slide across the frictionless hardwood floor, his socks shooting him to his door. Large hair swaying slightly as he ceased movement, he turned to face her and said, "You happen to have an inexcusably poor taste in music."

"I do _not!_ " She shrieked, eliciting a wince from her volume and stomping her foot angrily. "We just like different things." She followed him into his room, sitting on the edge of his twin bed as he took his customary position in the desk seat.

Fingers flying across the keyboard, he logged in and opened the internet browser. "Do you even know what kind of music I listen to?" He questioned, choosing not to offend her any more than he had.

Her swinging feet stopped their kicking. "Well, sure. You like...rap?" She replied questioningly, making her seem even less sure of herself than before. The evening sun cast shadows into his bedroom, shafts of auburn light caramelizing the wooden desk.

Jazmine knew her answer to be wrong when silence panned between them, only the sound of a mouse clicking breaking the stillness. Soft piano began playing from the computer, startling the young girl because of its unexpectedness. He turned to her, the seriousness of his song selection visible in his hardened expression. "Here's a reprieve from that constant Usher crap your parents call music: Something backed with actual talent."

Quietly they listened, a hint of nostalgia humming with the gentle melody. It had a happy yet saddened tune, and each note wore away at the stress of the day. A man's voice thrummed across the room, voice loud and passionate. Despite the stark transition in the music's intensity, he found the combination fitting, pleasant to the ear, and Huey almost felt reluctant sharing this part of him with her. This was a side that he hardly ever showed, not out of fear, but out of necessity. He was far too invested in living his very high standard of lifestyle to waste time engaged in pastimes he actually enjoyed.

However, Jazmine listened intently, jade eyes lit up in timid delight. Perhaps his efforts hadn't been in vain, for when he looked at her he felt he had been making a difference in someone's life, slowly invoking a change in a girl so young.

He shifted his hand beneath his chin, resting it upon his palm. Technically he was young too, the same age, but he held himself above the brain dead fodder of his age group, lofty ideals maturing him many years in his own eyes. Sometimes he found it easy to forget his own age-

The door suddenly opened, Riley entering with his black book bag in tow, chest laden with panted breaths. He shot a glare at the pair, tossing the bag beneath his messy bed with the metal clang of empty cans. "What?" He grunted sourly, not really expecting an answer as he pulled an orange bandana from around his neck and lazily threw the loosened garment to the floor. His palms and fingers were stained with dried paint, and with them he flopped onto his bed and kicked off his shoes, turning away from the irritated looks the older kids gave him.

Huey eyed the abandoned white Nikes, the tips of which were scuffed and blackened, slight green smudging of wet grass tipping him off as to where he'd been. Why vandalizing other's property appealed to the younger he would never understand, but nevertheless the eight year old indulged in the despicable hobby. Hadn't he gotten in enough trouble lately?

The song picked up in its second part, increasing in volume and repeating itself. Jazmine seemed to enjoy it, beginning to hum along quietly.

"Turn that gay music off." Riley snapped, and Huey scowled, complying if only for Jazmine's sake. She never liked it when they fought, and if Riley's attitude worsened, then a conflict was sure to ignite. The revolutionary found it difficult to abide by his nonviolent, familial standards when the eight year old disrespected him, having lost his temper on multiple occasions. Despite his irritating nature Riley was his younger sibling, one of the last surviving members of the Freeman clan, and it was Huey's obligation to love him. Their parents would've expected no less.

Huey sighed, gaze flicking to the corner of the monitor, registering the time. He turned towards his silent friend, monotone voice startling her. The wild, ponytail confined curls swung about as her head snapped away from the eight year old's slouched form and to him, their nutmeg hue shining dully in the light of the screen. "It's six forty Jazmine." He repeated, mutely wondering how she wouldn't've noticed. She despised walking home in the dark, even if it was just across the street, and her uncharacteristic lack of punctuality mildly unnerved the older Freeman. "Really!? She exclaimed, genuinely distraught. "Oh no!"

While he watched the girl gather herself with her apologetic rambles spewing forth, a shadowed silhouette crawled along the cream hallway walls, the flickering movement barely registered in the young revolutionary's eyes.

He ignored it, and the accompanying itch in his cerebellum that screamed 'fight or flight'.

Downstairs the front door audibly opened, signifying the arrival of the brothers' grandfather. Jazmine mumbled about having to use the restroom, and hurriedly left the room, narrowly passing the cranky form of their fast moving, oblivious Grandfather. She generally avoided him, sensing that he'd destroy her innocence with his schemes, especially after his movie theater stunt.

Robert entered the boy's room, snapping his belt and frightening Riley out of his relaxed position. "BOY! I know you weren't responsible for the Graffiti on the Dubois house!" The dark leather shone under gold fluorescent light, belt buckle glinting, and Robert squinted at the nervously grinning eight year old below him, peering sharply down his nose.

"H-hey Granddad," He stuttered, beginning to sweat nervously. "If you so sure it ain't me, which it ain't, then why you wavin' your belt aroun' like that? You'll scare a niggah."

The older Freeman paused at that, eyeing him suspiciously. Then he comically honed in on the book bag half shoved beneath Riley's bed, dull silver shining in the dark. "Wait a minute, what's that inside that book bag?"

His young voice raised another octave. "What book bag Granddad? You must be trippin'! You funny Granddad...Say, how was your date? Spending all our money on those hoes again?" The youngster did succeed in distracting his Grandfather from the evidence of his vandalism, but forgot to rid his tongue of certain trigger words, igniting new fires of rage in the bitter old man's wine eyes. "What did I say about calling women hoes?" He admonished, grabbing the child's arm and pulling him within whipping reach. A few powerful swings of his sturdy yet aged arms and Riley was crying, vocally expressing his resentment for his grandfather through sobs. It was an aggressive tantrum met with aggressive discipline, a familiar pattern of dysfunctional behavior that colored the Freeman's day to day lives.

* * *

Sarah Dubois sighed deeply as the front door audibly opened; briefly wondering what had prolonged her husband's entrance. He was likely just reluctant to see her and to be honest she wouldn't blame him. She had overreacted this morning; that she knew. It was a proceeding she overindulged herself in more often than she liked to admit, or would, and the guilt she felt afterwards was great enough to make her wonder why she didn't change.

She shook her fair haired head, cerulean eyes scanning the boiling pot before her. It had taken her quite a while, but eventually she realized why she felt such strong discontentment in her life. She was talentless and purposeless; bland. If someone were to personify her as a color, she would without a doubt be beige. The saddest part was that Thomas had very little to do with it.

All her friends from high school and college lived their lives in an array of vibrant hues, according to their Myspace and Facebook pages. Sarah had tried to get an Instagram, but she never did anything of any relevance to post in the first place. She felt like a fool taking pictures of her books and Jazmine's one eyed cat. That was when the vacationing started. She wanted to feel what it was like to live an exciting life of adventure, but it resulted in her simply reading in her hotel room, homesick and envious of the other carefree vacationers.

Thusly she spent some time self-evaluating, recollecting on past and present for a clue as to what would bring back the fervor attitude of youth. Her daughter Jazmine loved her cooking, as well as her husband, so she always considered that a talent. At least until the Freeman's moved in, and Robert blew everyone away with his gift. A slight metallic taste filled her small mouth as it watered at the decadent memories, and she swallowed stubbornly.

The Woodcrest Spring Fling had a cooking contest that she was annually invested in, and her oblivious husband trampled all over the dream. She had a chance this year, and he tore it away before she could truly savor the idea.

Her husband entered the kitchen, footsteps drawing her away from her thoughts and her meal preparations. They silently analyzed one another, Sarah forcing herself not to stare at the floor. The air was still, thick with clouded tension. His dark brown eyes were worn, and the way Tom's shoulders slouched showed a drop in his already low confidence levels. It had been a tough day at work, and her morning attitude hadn't helped any.

"Sar-"

"Tom-"

They both stopped, laughing lightly at the attempt. She raised her blue eyes, ignoring her own insecurities. This was her husband, for goodness sake. "I'm sorry-" He interrupted her, something rare for the respectful man. Tom pulled her into a tight, comforting hug, speaking calmly. "There's no need for that, let's just forget it. Neither of us are mad, so there isn't any point." Surged with relief and gratitude, Sarah's blonde head nodded, and a smile wormed it's way onto her features.

How easy was it to look at another's yard and perceive their grass to be greener. She knew, despite her worries, that she had married a good man. Too bad this feeling of contentment couldn't last, she lamented.

It never did with them.

* * *

Breaths still slightly hitched from his bed condemning tantrum, Riley stared at the darkened ceiling, his adjusted eyes watching the ceiling fan relentlessly spin. Each painted, wooden blade glinted orange as it rushed past the window, where a looming street light peaked through the blinds.

He thought of Mrs. Dubois from earlier that day, how she touched his shoulder and saw him, her probing eyes filled with concern. It had troubled him, and in the moment he had seen her as a nuisance. Albeit, laying in the dark beneath the comfort of his own sheets, listening to the whirling of the fan, the TV downstairs, and his brother's steady breathing, it was difficult to remain resolved against her kindness.

Mrs. Dubois was nice, whether he liked it or not.

A faint memory fluttered before his gaze, soft laughter and a hint of a woman's smile calming him, dark curls haloing her silhouetted head. He instinctively knew it to be his late mother, even if he hadn't ever seen a picture of her.

He sniffed the remnants of snot in his nose, the image fading, and broke the deafening silence with a question. "...Huey?"

Reticence swallowed the room, and then the ten year old sighed, apparently taking his time with his response. "...Yeah?"

Riley turned towards him with a rustle of sheets, eyeing his sibling's back. "Was Mom nice?" He whispered, almost scared to ask. This was a touchy subject for the older Freeman. When Riley was four, Huey allegedly went on an enraged tantrum and destroyed all the photos of his parents that Aunt Cookie and Granddad possessed. The result was traumatic and disastrous; no one was sure what triggered it, but it was clear the topic was taboo.

He timidly held his breath, small fists gripping his comforter, then released it in relief as his sibling calmly spoke. "Yeah...she was. Sometimes she didn't want people to think so, but she was."

Riley thought his brother's words over, comparing them to the memory of her smile and trying to see past that. A small, regularly smothered part of him hoped that if he learned enough about his parent's he'd remember more. "Was she as smart as you?" He asked, wincing inwardly at the unintentional compliment.

His brother briefly seemed taken aback, but replied quietly anyhow, voice soft. "No. She was much smarter. She always knew what Dad and I were thinking, even before we spoke."

The younger's eyes widened, taking in Huey's still, sunless form. _Dad…_ He swallowed, speaking eagerly yet hushed. "What about Dad? Was he nice too? And smart? I bet he was strong too, like Bushido Brown strong!" Maybe the ten year old had finally let go, his uncharacteristic sharing of personal information exciting Riley. He curled his toes, wishing he could see into that big head of his, and remember his parents like everyone else did. It wasn't fair that they could see their faces and hear their voices, leaving Riley in the dark with their unwillingness to confide. It wasn't that the entire Freeman clan was closed off, but Aunt Cookie was the only other family member he knew, and she liked to exaggerate the good things and water down the bad.

After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, Huey spoke, his irritated voice breaking the silence. "Shut your dumb ass up." He huffed, curling further into himself and consequently moving farther from his sibling.

A passing car briefly illuminated their room; the silted white beams sliding along Riley's sloppily hung posters and tossed about clothes, fading dimly as it came full circle to Huey's many shelved books.

Riley scowled and rolled back over, pulling his covers over his shoulders. "Whatever niggah." He muttered in a bitter attempt at hiding his flooding disappointment.

The door opened abruptly and the light switch flicked on, bright light blinding the pair. Granddad scowled, barking voice cracking the before tense bedroom air. "Huey! Take Jazmine home, you know that girl is scared of the dark. What's wrong with you?" Huey groaned, expression mirroring his Grandfather's as he obediently got up, ignoring Riley's half hearted although characteristic snickering. "But she's my age Granddad!" He complained, inwardly scolding himself for forgetting she was at their house. For all he knew she walked home independently, but that was likely just the haze of sleep talking. "She should be able to walk home by herself."

Surprisingly, Riley came to his defense, recognizing injustice. "Yeah, plus you already sent us to bed. Why can't _you_ take the cry baby home?"

"Shut the hell up." Their elder dismissed, using his authority to excuse his apparent laziness. Like he usually did, if Huey was being honest with himself. "Huey get dressed and take that sweet little girl home"

* * *

Huey and Jazmine stepped outside and into the cold, seeing as the temperature dropped quite a bit with the setting of the sun. It felt briefly like winter again, and the two unconsciously rubbed at their dry noses, wishing for some sort of moisture. The sky had been too empty too often as of late, all the life giving water missing from the still air. The world seemed to be holding its breath, frightened of the heat stricken seasons to come.

The older Freeman shut the door behind them, muttering to himself over how ridiculous it was that his ten year old neighbor still indulged in a lack of confidence, childishly clinging to the fears of her past. He glanced at her, the girl's jade eyes flicking from the empty yards to the still streetlights, hands rubbing away at her goose bump covered arms. She was both frightened and cold.

That was another thing, she was always without a plan, unprepared. The forecast said to expect another drop in temperature as the evening progressed, and she likely didn't even think to check.

"Come on." He grunted, walking past her and into the empty street. "Huey!" She yelped, nervous despite her house being right down the street. "Wait up!" The mixed child fell into step with him, eyeing his gray jacket.

"Huey, can I-" She began, only to be curtly cut off by his words."No, you can't wear my jacket. Your house is right over there, you won't need it."

"But I'm _freezing!_ " She whined, grabbing hold of his arm and almost tearing his hands from his pockets. "And aren't boys supposed to be polite and give girls their jackets?" His breath clouded briefly before them as he huffed; glare sinking heavily into his young features like sediment. "We're practically at your house Jazmine, and I have to walk back home, which doubles my time out in the cold."

She crossed her arms, puffing her rosy cheeks out in frustration. "You're supposed to be nice to girls." She mumbled, eliciting an eye roll from her companion.

They reached the driveway, Huey stopping impatiently. She looked at the familiar home swamped in deep shadows before her, and swallowed, turning to Huey expectantly. "Well go on." He prodded, monotone voice lacking empathy. She nodded, melodramatically taking a childish step forward. The sound of rubber soles on gravel distracted her, and she glared at her impatiently shuffling friend.

The Freeman boy seemed oddly tense, anxious waves of energy rolling from his normally stoic form. His wine hued gaze followed a flickering shadow, eyes narrowing.

As Jazmine turned once more to bravely embark down the dark driveway, Huey grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Wait." He commanded, voice trailing off as his squinted gaze pierced the night air. "Something's off."

* * *

Riley was in stubborn denial of his dreaming. He was consciously aware of it being in the midst of progression, and decided a renouncement of the truth to be the best path. If he simply dreamt his eyes being closed, then perhaps he would stop lucid dreaming and slip into a healthier, deeper slumber.

Albeit his subconscious would have none of that, and it filled his ears with the instinctive, primitive fear invoking sound of silence. It roared, building in static volume and making him cry out in agony. Pressure increased in the center of his forehead, the blood rushing loudly in his abused pinnae, and Riley opened his bloodshot wine eyes.

He frowned, having expecting the terrible golden world to greet his dream vision. Instead, he found himself surrounded by a sea of smoke. It obscured the world around him, blinding him and abusing his senses. The taste and smell of it lathered his skin, eyes, nostrils and throat.

He began coughing, tears running freely down his burning cheeks. He wobbled forward through the swamp of gasses, desperately searching for a break in the heavy fumes. His lungs were painfully filled, every exhale returned the gray swirls to the shallow air. Overcome with violent coughing, he fell to his knees, hacking gray paste from his rattling chest. Saliva dribbled from his chin, stained the dark gray of ash.

His dark brows furrowed, eyes narrowing into a confused stare. Droplets of spit contained swirling smoke deep within rippling glass. He suddenly slipped through the black ground, arms of ink bubbling around him and dragging him deeper into nothing. The oily gunk pushed its way past his lips and into his mouth, drowning him. His wine eyes fluttered shut, screams muffled by the liquefaction of his entire being.

And in a flicker of orange light he reemerged, inhaling pure, crisp air with painful bliss. He collapsed into the arms of the familiar, beautiful stranger, breathless and weak. She rubbed his back in a soothing motion, smiling softly.

Riley untangled himself from her pale, freckled arms, looking into her golden eyes. Her expression gave the impression of a loving older sister, despite them being nothing alike.

She opened her mouth as though to speak, brows furrowed in slight confusion. Fine hairs raised on the back of his neck when her grip on his arms tightened, a squelching sticky sound resounding from her pale throat. Horrified, his wet eyes met a pair of shining black ones as a quick moving, slime covered salamander climbed onto her tongue and over her lips. It fell onto his lap, Riley violently jerking in an attempt to leave her iron grasp and escape the screaming lizard. A grinding, popping sound from within her chest, and the child was paralyzed as dozens of salamanders crawled from her hollow innards.

The buzzing of a wasp, and Riley found his flickering strength, jerking free and collapsing through the floor of smoke.

The wind rushed past him along with withering salamanders, and slowly his mind turned to dust. Particles of all he once knew joined the blackened clouds, and the instant before he crashed he thought it funny his fall was his saving grace.

Riley awoke screaming, throwing himself from the tangled, sweat soaked sheets. He bolted to the bathroom, panic deafening him to the ruckus Riley created in his haste. He looked in the mirror, slamming the door behind him while wild eyes searched for evidence of the terrible slime.

Instead all he saw was a scared little boy who was hardly tall enough to see into the mirror, a familiar stranger that didn't at all fit into the puzzle of his self-conception.

He sunk to the cold tile floor, shivering in fear, cold sweat and tears mingling in a terrible mix. There he lay, ignoring his grandfather's concerned banging on the locked door.

The young Freeman wasn't sure how much more of this he could endure, he may have to man up and tell someone about these dreams.

* * *

Sarah gently pulled away, leaving the warm embrace and turning back to her cooking. "So what happened today?" She asked, Tom sitting at a cushioned dining room chair and untying his black work shoes.

"Well Ed Wuncler came in about that Governor's boy."

Her movements tensed, spine straightening. A deep breath and she lowered the heat on the finished pasta, crossing the kitchen to open the junk drawer. "Is that so?" She tentatively inquired, wanting him to elaborate before she voiced her opinion on the matter. She pulled the lighter from the drawer; bending down to give Jazmine's cat a light scratch behind the ears before she opened the cabinet above her head. She reached above her and grabbed a vanilla candle.

"He's offered quite an amount of money to defend the young man." Tom admitted, hinting at his already made decision. The one-eyed feline stalked past the legs of Tom's chair, headed towards the front door to be let out.

The bitter blonde stretched her lips into a firm line of disapproval, fumbling with the lighter in an attempt to light the candle. Tom stood with a sigh, approaching the door with the intent to open it. She briefly wondered where Jazmine was, a glance up at the window concluding her suspicious of the hour. A grunt of frustration left her lips, fingers fumbling with the lighter which shouldn't have been difficult for a woman of her age.

A click of plastic, and the small yellow spark ignited.

And that simple action washed away Sarah's world in a rolling explosion of flame.

* * *

Huey grabbed Jazmine by the shoulders and whirled her around, throwing them both to the rough gravel as the windows burst in a flash of blinding yellow light. Her I-Pod fell from her pocket and shattered. Their ears rang, and Jazmine's high pitched screams could barely be heard over the roar of flame, glass shards littering the street. Huey held her down, peering back over his shoulder in disbelief.

Despite being disoriented, he watched a terribly familiar man walk casually away, his firelight illuminated suit scorched and blackened. The white haired man glanced briefly behind him, smiling at the staring child before heading to the park.

Didn't anyone see him? What happened to all the people outside barely an hour ago?

Jazmine's struggling had stopped and Huey's focus slipped down to her, helping his friend up cautiously. She stared in horror as her home burned, hardly able to move from the shock.

Jazmine took a tentative step forward, ignoring the glass, ignoring the intense heat, ignoring Huey. Her jade eyes shone gold in the blinding firelight, and their focus was one terrible truth that couldn't be denied."Mommy and Daddy are in there…" She murmured, body tensing. Huey swallowed roughly past a thick lump in his throat, blinking past the fog of shock in his mind and trying weakly to pull her away from the burning house.

She bolted forward with enough force to pull them both to the ground, glass shards biting into their hot skin. That didn't stop her from trying, Huey having to grab her tightly to prevent her from charging into the all-consuming flames. "MOMMY AND DADDY ARE IN THERE!" She shrieked, voice cracking, hoarse sobs violently racking her body. Her pupils were dilated and loosened nutmeg locks stuck to her sweat soaked, soot smeared forehead. She hit him with her small fists, thrashing like an animal. "LET ME GO!"

A terrible, high pitched yowling broke past the sound of her screams and the roaring of the fire, Jazmine falling silent and limp in horror as her beloved cat came clawing out the flames. It's fur was on fire, and slowly the miserable smoking creature crawled through the blacked yard. Spasms shook its body, the terrible sounds escaping it's small fanged mouth. Huey duly shook his head in denial, mortified. The feline came to a shaking stop just a few feet before them, the yellow flames faded to orange sparks against the few hairs left over bleeding and oozing burnt skin. There it lay, it's single glassy eye staring accusingly at the pair.

An intake of sudden breath, and the young girl began to violently sob, desperation for the world to rewind and undo choking the air from her slender throat. Her screaming didn't stop as neighbors rushed outside, helping Huey pull her away from the destroyed home as they called the police and fire departments.

Sirens could already be heard in the distance, first responders rushing to the scene.

The once rapper neighbor - now UPS delivery boy - Thugnificent came running to the house, blue bathrobe swaying. "Damn…" He murmured, unable to lighten the situation with his usual ignorant optimism.

Huey didn't remember who took Jazmine's trembling form from his tired arms. He didn't see the tears streaking his neighbors faces or the pitying glances sent his way. His mind was focused on one thing, and one thing only.

The man who did this.

The child's small, rounded fists clenched, nails digging into his palms sharply. The white shadow was responsible, the older man's knowing smile boiling Huey's blood.

The ten year old had always been passionate, fierce determination often clouding his judgment as much as sharpening it. At his tender age he had been labeled a domestic terrorist, and he had a government agent trailing his every move. Albeit, he never once felt he endangered anyone. He never would've guessed this would happen. Perhaps he had grown rusty, he normally knew what happened, what was to come of every chain of events. Why then, had he been blind to the potential deaths of Tom and Sarah?

"I've missed something.." He whispered, wine hued gaze reflecting the orange firelight dully as he retreated into himself. First responders rushed about the scene, oblivious to the revolutionary who had seen the criminal responsible for this. Whose mind held all the evidence they'd ever need to discover the truth. "There was a sign," He breathed, tightening his fists until they hurt, knuckles white. "There had to have be-"

 _The shadow._

His eyes widened. He had seen it, the shadow crawling across the hallway in his own home. The man had been watching them then, Huey was sure of it. And he'd ignored it. Slowly the ten year old turned away from the scene, towards his own silent home. It wasn't too late, the man was headed towards the park. He had let himself be seen, he wanted Huey to come after him, he understood that the first thing he'd do was seek vengeance. And it was quite unfortunate for him to be right.

As though coming to life, Huey's body bolted into motion, running home as fast as he could. His open jacket flapped in the rushing air, each breath clouding his vision for only a moment as he moved.

He would do whatever necessary to stop him from taking any more lives, be it giving up his own. Orange streetlights briefly illuminated his speeding form as he crossed through their radius's, slipping in and out of temperate darkness.

He would do whatever necessary to protect his family.


	3. Home Burial

Chapter 3

" _He saw her from the bottom of the stairs_

 _Before she saw him. She was starting down,_

 _Looking back over her shoulder at some fear._

 _She took a doubtful step and then undid it_

 _To raise herself and look again._ "

 _\- Home Burial, Robert Frost_

The red orange flames pooled from the windows, stokes of the element coating the outside walls in a thickening pool until they caught on the roof's lip, eagerly spreading further. The tongues of liquid heat flickered and danced in their devouring haste, smoke billowing out from the blasted-through windows and the ajar door. The backdrop of a night sky stretched in stark contrast to the great column of soft gray, the bottom of which glowed a soft yellow. The raw amount of the toxic gas was startling, clearing away the pajama adorned neighbors and the first responders who lacked protective masks. The taste of it was on their tongues, nostrils filled with the attractive yet fear invoking scent. Pleasurable and primal, like adrenaline. The home was too hot for humans to survive within, firefighters working to keep away the public and contain the flames. The dry grass and shrubbery had caught several times, professionals dousing the slightest glimmers and sparks before control was lost.

The general public had moved down the block, chatting mindlessly and murmuring condolences whenever the thought occurred to them that Jazmine could very well be an orphan. Sarah Dubois was declared dead at the scene, there being no way she could've been alive within the undoubtedly destroyed home when the firefighters arrived. Thomas, however, had been stepping outside the home when the arbitrary combustion occurred. He was in critical condition, unconscious form rushed into an ambulance and driven off to the hospital.

Upwind of the burning home, the firelight illuminated the street, reflecting from the glass of neighboring windows and fallen shards. In stark contrast to the actual season of late winter, warm air flooded and expanded about Woodcrest. Hardly a residing soul was oblivious to the event, and tragedy was publicized further by a shining local news van. The white paint looked gray in the night air, firelight reflecting from and thusly covering the proud green and yellow Wuncler "W" on the side of the van.

None of this mattered to the silent little girl at the edge of the crowd, whose formally bright olive eyes were dull and bloodshot. She was empty of conscious thought, hands clinging tightly to the rough wool blanket draped across her shoulders. Her gaze was locked upon the flames, watching her world burn. The paramedics had already treated her, bandaged her hands and knees where there was need. She had spent a half hour being tossed from adult to adult, some questioning, others fretting. Eventually they let her be, addressing other urgencies.

That was all she wanted, most assumed, was to be left alone like a broken thing which couldn't be touched for fear of damaging further.

If she had been herself, she would've wondered where her best friend had disappeared to. Instead she sat with a stillness foreign to her, the impossibility of the situation staling her grief and leaving her frozen.

* * *

Riley hummed along to the music, wine hued eyes shut tight against the biting lamp light of his home. Sweat coated his form, shoulders jerking with the occasional shiver induced tremor. Although he was blind to it, he was painfully aware of the nervous looks his grandfather kept shooting him, the anxious man's gaze paranoid beneath his wide rimmed glasses. The eight year old did his best to ignore it, trying to focus on the words and how the artist emphasized their meaning. It was a simple distraction from the stress and embarrassment he currently felt, humiliated by his own weakness.

 _Houses abandoned and boarded up._

 _Gave us hope and you tore it up._

 _Feel like they missed the form-_

 _deported us then aborted us_

 _loved us and then got bored with us_

 _kissed us then shut the door on us_

 _look what you did to us!_

 _I'm here,_

"But here's more of us.." He finished in a whisper, gut sinking as the song went into the upbeat chorus. He was isolated, detached from his ill fitting form which before had been so comfortable. His mind hung adrift above, trying desperately to escape the being which warped and binded it. A cocktail of depression and exhaustion churning within his unsettled stomach, the worries he had suppressed beginning to surface despite his efforts to maintain normalcy. It was a difficult thing to accomplish after your paranoid Granddad discovers the truth.

Riley shook his head, opening his eyes to remind himself of reality. The volume of his headphones tuned out the program broadcasted on BET, and without thought he removed the buds, flashing TV light flooded across his face. The laughing of his grandfather was white noise, yet he joined in with his giddy cackle. A forced smile stretched across his face and he pushed all thoughts of salamanders and isolation from his mind, perceiving the faint smell of smoke in his nostrils to be remnants of his dream.

Another rerun of the latest Thugnificent hit, bass violently shaking from the speakers, and his eyes were beginning to sting.

Granddad was pulled from his usual oblivious mindset, slowly rising from his favorite cushioned chair. "Smells like somethings burning.." He murmured, sniffing the air comically and looking about. Riley watched as his grandfather began inspecting the kitchen, a slightly tired hobble in his step that painfully reminded him of his age. He inspected the oven and microwave, finding both utilities to be cold and empty.

"You got any candles lit Granddad?" Riley suggested, trying to be of assistance without actually getting up.

The old man shook his head, muttering about how he wasn't going to waste money on colored wax when he could just by some febreze. Sticking his head into the laundry room he confirmed what had already been known, the drier was off and the faint, mysterious smell remained. Scratching his white haired head he returned to the living room, a comic expression of confusion deepening his wrinkles.

Riley lifted himself from the couch, blanket falling to the floor as he peeked through the nearest blinds. "Maybe it's comin' from outside." Peering into the darkness, his young wine eyes widened at the orange glow pooling from beyond his vision. The dancing yellow glimmer reflected off of houses windows, and he recognized it on an instinctive level.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, turning towards his elder who hurried over and forcibly opened the blinds, almost knocking his grandchild to the ground. For once Riley made no homophobic comment on their close proximity, voicing his concerns worriedly. "Huey ain't back yet Granddad! And that could be the Dubois house! You think it's-?"

His raised voice raked on Granddad's nerves, and the man snapped irritably. "Dammit boy! Stop talking and get me my coat!" The eight year grinned, feeling a rush of excitement and ran to the entry way closet where their coats hung. He pulled a stool out fast as he could, climbing atop and tugging the heavy garment from its wire hanger. Tossing it on the ground beside the stool he retrieved his own winter shield, shrugging it over his arms and shoulders and yanking the zipper up. His pajamas bunched underneath, but it was a mild discomfort he easily forgave, grasping his elders coat and delivering it to him. The man adorned it, feet sliding into his outside slippers as he gripped about Riley's avoidance of putting away the stool. Seeing as his misbehavior was a common occurrence and the greater matter of seeking out his other grandchild took prominence he left the issue alone.

Together they headed outside, wincing at the cold slap of air across their faces. The door shut behind them, and Riley's young eyes scanned the faces of the neighbors. His grandfather squinted and approached hesitantly, the child remaining behind. He analyzed the scene before him nervously, unaware of the familiar silhouette slipping beyond their peripheral vision, headed towards his home.

A couple moved within the silhouettes, revealing a young girl with a head of all too recognizable curls. Riley bolted forwards, abandoning his grandfather who cursed and demanded he return fruitlessly. He wove between pajama adorned people, most displeased at his presence and parting with grunts of annoyance.

After short but frustrating moments of struggle, he made it through the crowd, nearly falling to his knees with the leftover momentum of his chase. He could see the burning house clearly, illuminated firemen dousing it with powerful hoses of purposeful containment. The fire was too mighty to fall to the efforts of man, but it wouldn't be allowed to spread to other homes. A gold light casted onto the street, the smell of smoke so strong his nose curled in disgust.

Sitting on the curb, as close to the flames as she was allowed, was Jazmine. She had her back to him, and just when he opened his mouth to call her name his words faltered. There was a wrongness in her posture, she was far too still. One of the things he always complained about when she visited his brother was her constant movement. The bubbly girl was rarely ever motionless, bouncing with a childish vigor he felt she should've outgrown.

Another look to the burning home, smoke billowing into the night sky as a pillar of stark blackness. He was unnerved by the absence of his sibling, and a gnawing thought he refused to address settled in the pit of his stomach.

Clearing his thick throat, he called her name, his voice surprising him with it's uncharacteristic timidity. "Jazmine.."

No response, just a ball of frizz resting atop a slouched back, the only movement being the soft ruffling touch of a passing breeze, the wind's fingers entangling through her curls.

"Jazmine." He tried, louder this time, and with a frustrated furrowing of his brows the eight year old realized he was being ignored. The indifference of her posture as she watched her home burn angered him, he felt his anxiousness flow into his limbs, stepping closer to her.

He roughly grabbed the older girl's shoulder, forcing her to turn, to see him.

"The hell's wrong with y-" He stopped, cut off by her empty eyes and blank expression. With haunting paleness, her face was turned towards him, firelight outlining her rounded nose and lowered lashes.

He knelt down in front of the older girl panic seizing him. "Jazmine! Where's Huey at? Where's my brother bitch, tell me where he gone!" Wine eyes lightened to a golden brown in face of the flames, he gazed once again to the all consuming fire. The threat to his life, to his little family.

He gripped her shoulders tighter, knuckles white and teeth clenched, shaking the ten year old. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, not the loud, obnoxious ones from her tantrums. These were silent, and he began pleading with desperation at her inability to meet his gaze, with the dead eyed stare that paled her features.

"Please Jazmine, I can't lose my big brother, yo'se bein' an uncooperative broad, Jaz come on, don't tell me he in there! You gon'answer me-" He was grabbed from behind and lifted from his feet, trapped in the strong arms of his grandfather.

He struggled in the old man's grasp, not daring to strike him but attempting to escape all the same. "That's enough of your insensitivity Riley." The man sternly but quietly reprimanded, wrinkled hands speckled with age spots holding him still.

"Insensitivity!" The eight year old exclaimed, seizing his thrashing and turning to face the old man. Disbelief and a hint of paranoia raised his voice, and the old man hushed him as he spoke. "Granddad, she won'tell me where Huey gon'to. What if-"

The oldest Freeman interrupted him, Riley's twisted features reflected on his shimmering glasses. "Dammit boy, quit embarrassing yourself! This little girl's parents just died, I thought you of all people could understand that. Besides, unlike _you_ Huey has intelli _gence_ \- he probably went to get help." The intense contrast of the night and the fire deepened the old man's wrinkles, changing his appearance to an ancient one.

Riley sighed, his calm exterior convincing his guardian of his readiness to be put down. Sneakered feet on the ground and his grandfather's calming hand on his shoulder, the sleeve of the man's robe tickling his neck, Riley guiltily turned his gaze to the girl. She hadn't moved, staring intently at a piece of glass glowing yellow in the night. He noticed for the first time how tightly her hands gripped one another, how her lip trembled with held terror.

His grandfather was wrong, he didn't understand. How could he? He hadn't before experienced loss. That simple truth kept him from fully comprehending the gravity of the situation, and the minor sense of guilt and remorse was drowned out by his own concerns.

He would never admit aloud the lack of memories regarding his parents, who seemed to be ghosts rather than lost loved ones.

* * *

Huey took a deep breath, hands consciously loosening from their white knuckled grip. His katana, well cared for and custom made for someone of his height, rested coolly against his raw palms. The orange street and firelight flooded into his shared bedroom window by his feet, the rest of his form lost in shadows.

He needed to get a hold on himself, his emotions were weak points easily exploited, especially by someone like his opponent. Where Huey knew almost nothing about The White Shadow, the man knew everything about him. It was most certainly unwise to go out looking for a fight, but he was dangerous, and Huey was the only one who could stop him. The only one who knew. He could easily imagine the authorities reaction to his story, their gently mocking words and barely suppressed, condescending laughter. He wasn't one to waste time on pointless ventures.

Not when his revenge was on the line.

Huey opened his eyes, gritting his teeth and leaving the room. Every second he spent trying to settle his thoughts was another second justice remained un-served. The calm tranquility of Jazmine Dubois' life was an irreplaceable hindrance, one which Huey's shadow had wrongly stolen. Often enough Huey had been irritated with her sheltered, naive innocence. She was blind almost willingly, and she refused to see any element of the truth. It was hopelessly vexing, and on occasion Huey desired to grab her by her shoulders and shake some sense into her.

However, as unnerving as it was to admit, he had grown close to the girl. She was a clingy, emotional pest which tired him more than his frustratingly ignorant sibling and self centered grandfather. She hated the best things about herself, and was frightfully white washed, oblivious to her own culture-her african heritage. Yet she, with a willingness and attentiveness unlike anyone he had known, listened. Her comprehension of his words, of his dreams and passions was low, but it didn't seem to matter. She admired him, was inspired by him, and sought to hear him and understand. Cario, his ex best friend, would listen, but was often times thrust into boredom by his spiteful rants. He had never once, looked at him with the same vivid awe that Jazmine did.

And now, because of his actions, her life was shattered. How could he ever again speak to her? Sickening guilt unlike anything he had ever felt, was shoved into the back of his mind, restrained by the promise of a vengeance only he could provide: the death of his shadow.

The average ten year old would feel overwhelmed, the oppressive weight of untimely obligation stupefying them. Huey had dealt with that for years, he understood better than most adults the pressure of living for others. Tonight, he would show the beast just what it meant to dedicate your life to those around you.

He left the house, headed towards the darkness of the park.

* * *

As the flames began to subside, her once grand house crumbling into charred rubble as entire beams collapsed, devoured by the endless appetite of the fire. Jazmine's frozen mind thawed, and she began to register the terrible implications of tonight's events. Her breathing quickened with the pace of her thoughts, and like a cornered animal she felt the urging desire to leave.

She stood, a silent shaking figure in the night whose existence was swept away like ash in the wind, forgotten to her neighbors. Their chatter and suffocating sobriety surrounded the child, stuffing her helplessly into a box of containment. She backed away from the crowd, from the lights and the noise, and staggered.

She had to get away, to escape from everything and everyone. It was all too much, and she ran, bolting off into the night.

Jazmine didn't know where she was going or even why, she just moved her body faster as the tears streamed down her cheeks. The rushing air felt like ice against her sweat and tear soaked skin, and she felt sticky and tired and frightened. No one would be there to comfort her, and she sprinted away from the fact.

In her haste she stumbled, a minor trip resulting in a rough fall of catastrophic proportions. She skidded against the ground, all her momentum thrown back at her and the world was still.

It was then that the tears came, hot and heavy, rolling past her cheeks and into her messy puffs of hair. A shard lodged itself in her throat, and she choked past it, squinting her wet eyes in pain. The dizzying splay of stars speckled across a navy backdrop blurred. The ground was rough and her body ached, Jazmine felt heavy enough to sink through it.

A single, unbearable question formed in her mind, a concept more than a conscious thought.

 _Why?_

She didn't hear the oncoming footsteps, didn't see the person who stopped just outside her field of vision.

Strong, steady hands lifted her gently from the ground, pulling her close, and instinctively she reached out, sobbing and clinging to the warm figure's uniform. Her ears were filled with the unwavering beat of his heart, and the soft murmurs of comfort. A kind hand stroked her matted curls, the worn coils that tiredly attempted the usual voluminous bounce.

With her trembling body secure in his arms the officer walked, returning to the light.

"It hurts.." She gasped through sobs, burying her face into his clothes. Her fingers bunched the fabric beneath her small fists, the material soaked with tears and sticky with snot.

"It always will." The man stated, and she cried harder, having not expected a response. The stranger's voice was a cruel reminder that this indeed was reality, and their was no way to go back. Through her blurred vision she could see the silver buttons of his uniform, flashing red as they neared the line of police cars and firetrucks.

"But you will continue to live, it's all you can do."

* * *

It didn't take long for Huey to make it to the hill, and there waiting for him, just as he expected, was The White Shadow. He stood facing the suburban town below, back to the child, the fire in the distance little more than an orange flower in a field of black and gray.

The ten year old hand planned on attacking him on the spot, declaring his rage to the world in a cry for justice and a swing of his katana. However, upon arrival his throat locked and fear seized him. The quiet, unnerving kind that works your insides up into a panic.

"So you've come for revenge," The white haired man asked, not facing him. Hands remaining lodged in his pockets he began to chuckle darkly, shaking his head. "Typical." His voice bit the air like the snapping jaws of a cornered weasel, small and wrathful.

Huey could deal with the disgust he sensed, that was easy, many stomachs had turned at his presence in the past. He used the familiarity of the emotion to steady himself, working past the instinctive jumble of nerves with long, meditative breaths.

A flash of silver, and Huey blinked, reflexively ducking into a roll and raising his blade in defense.

Sparks flashed as his small sword connected with his opponents own, the orange light flickering across his black glasses. A powerful twitch of muscles, and Huey lurched backwards, narrowly avoiding the darting metal slick with ill intent. His small blade flicked forwards in his retreat, however, just barely nicking the man's face.

"Well done Huey!" The man mockingly praised, righting himself with an unkind grin.

The ten year old's almandine eyes remained locked on his enemy, narrowed in hate but lacking their previous steel. Something was off with the man, he realized, as The White Shadow turned to face him. The way he held himself, the eerie air of confidence radiating from his agonizingly casual posture, was disrupted. Somehow the sense of absolute control was lost, sanity shattered. The young Freeman remained silent, mouth stretched into a tight line.

The White Shadow accepted this with a look of understanding, glancing back at the fire without repositioning his body. "Ah, the silent treatment. Understandable considering I did just, destroy your little friend's home and kill her parents. But you never liked them, they were all blind fools, unlike you and I. It won't take long to brush this off."

The Freeman's voice was low and dripping with hate, a poised viper. "It is just like government scum to take the lives of American citizens so lightly. Differing beliefs or not they didn't deserve to die." Unwilling, his thoughts flashed to earlier, Tom's descent into the corrupt regions of lawyerhood. "They did not deserve to die." He repeated, albeit softer, as though he was speaking to himself.

Huey's attention was snapped back to the present and his muscles tensed, The White Shadow lurching forwards with his sword hilt held close to his core. Huey evaded easily, the older rushing past and spinning on his heel with a momentum powered counterstrike. Steel met steel, ringing in the tense night air, and the two engaged.

They were a flurry of silver, blades whirling in a deadly dance searching for a hole in the other's defense.

His heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing as he narrowly dodged another strike, Huey was slowly gaining ground. His opponent changed tactics, realizing the lost advantage. Huey backed up the slope towards the oak tree, quick feet avoiding the suddenly low swings of the taller man's blade.

The White Shadow brought his sword up in a curving jab, the Freeman nimbly avoiding the power filled offense and deflecting with a flick of his wrist. This left the older wide open, and Huey rushed him, kicking the man in the stomach with all his strength and knocking him into a backwards roll. The flailing sword skidded against his own katana in it's wild rotation, weighed down with The White Shadow's attempt to remain balanced.

Then they were both tumbling down the hill, rocks digging into Huey's wincing form and their swords left somewhere above, knocked from their grips. The two reached the base simultaneously, a sharp pain shooting up Huey's arm as it broke his fall. The White Shadow landed in a far kinder manner, stumbling disorientedly to his feet and half heartedly brushing off his dirted suit.

Huey tried to rise, cradling his throbbing arm close to his chest and standing on shaking legs. It was likely sprained, he guessed, having felt this pain before. It didn't hold a candle to the time he broke his arms, but it was enough to hinder his progress.

He glanced around for his enemy, spotting him just as the government agent delivered a harsh foot to the child's stomach. His hands were pocketed as the child collapsed, the wind knocked out of him.

Huey couldn't help the involuntary, wheezing gasps that left his shaking lips, nor the hot panic as he struggled to recover. He glared piercingly at the man above him, wine eyes black in the night.

The White Shadow let out a short, barking laugh, dabbing his bloodied cheek with his tie. "You fought just as expected Huey, with all the fire you have. Too bad it wasn't enough." The agent lamented, eyes flashing beneath cracked shades.

He bent into a crouch, grabbing the falling child by the shirt and hoisting him into the air. Despite his pain the youngster struggled, spitting out a venomous question. " _Why?"_

His shadow laughed, his teeth sharp and white in the darkness, a little too straight. "Not to get at you, if that's what you're egotistical little head thinks. It was business, I'm tired of stalking timid runts and they offered me a reinstatement to my former status if I proved myself. Resumes become practically useless as you age in the field."

His grip on Huey's shirt loosened as he spoke, and the child swung his leg forwards in a furious kick, twisting from the agent's grasp as his foot made contact. He landed on his knees and hurried away from striking distance immediately, fumbling in an one armed crab-walk.

The agent was bent over and holding his torso, gasping at his surely bruised ribs.

" _..Fucking shit..!"_ He gasped, and Huey wasted no time scrambling for his katana. It was too dark and he wasn't quite sure where it had fallen, but he made his way wide eyed up the hill nevertheless. His eyes scanned the thick, dead grass for a glint of metal, and found one, a meter ahead. He lunged for it, sliding on his bruised knees and snatching it to his chest. The hilt was painfully cold against his stiff fingers, goosebumps and sweat texturing his skin.

A voice light with dark humor snapped the tension in the air, "You put up quite a fight Kiddo, I'll give you that."

Huey whirled around, but found himself alone in the night, breathless and bruised and broken.

Later, when his grandfather came and picked him up from the emergency room - bewildered and pissed that in all of this chaos Huey managed to get himself hospitalized - the anger came. He refused to speak to, or to look at his family members. He didn't deserve their comfort, their conversation.

So he let the rage churn inside of him, and rather than sleeping in his welcoming bed, he stared at the ceiling, and planned.


	4. Fire and Ice

Chapter 4

" _Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire."_

 _\- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost_

"Fire on Timid Deer Lane. Just twelve hours ago one of the homes in the Wuncler suburbs spontaneously combusted, destroying the residence and causing minor damage to surrounding properties. The homeowner and head of the house, local lawyer Thomas Dubois was found at the scene alive, and was taken into emergency care." Images of the family slid in a powerpoint like motion across the screen; A well dressed interracial couple, a bright eyed little girl with cork-screw curls. "His wife, Sarah Dubois, was declared dead, and is expected to have been killed in the initial blast. Reporting from Timid Deer, our very own, Martha Jones."

An asian woman with high cheekbones and straight hair filled the television. "Thanks Dan, As you can see behind me, the once proud home is a little more than smoking rubble, even the surrounding pavement is black with ash. And the street itself is littered with shards of glass-Woodcrest Firemen say this is due to the extreme, heat of the blaze."

"And what a blaze it was Martha, it burned the entire night, only smoldering when the national guard provided assistance to our WCFD." A spotlit helicopter, blades blurred, dropped what looked to be white powder from it's belly, dousing the burning home and the surrounding areas. "During the ensuing investigations, there have been many speculations as to what or who, caused this accident. Investigators first concluded this to be the result of worn pipes, but now it's suspected to be arson. Martha?"

"That's correct Dan-As police questioned neighbors, it was hinted that the fire, caused by a leak in methane gas, was no accident."

A thin woman with a prominent jaw and rollers in her hair appeared on screen before a shaking camera, arms crossed and head bobbing in self affirming nods. "They were always arguing, the Dubois. They would wake up the entire neighborhood with their hollering. I told myself, one of these days Judith, one of these days they'll _sssnap..!_ That I did, and look at what happened? My son was calling me all night, worried sick. That he was!"

Another neighbor, with lips wrinkled in smug self adoration beneath a well trimmed mustache took to the screen. "It doesn't take much investigation to conclude the reason behind this, there was a vengeful lover involved. The wife was a closed curtain unfaithful woman, I should know, I'm an expert."

Then a slow spoken woman with a passively sweet expression on her plain face, unkept bangs brushing her brow in imitation of good taste. "Now Sarah was a gentle woman, always gardening and looking after the home, I would see her getting the mail from across the street. It's just a terrible thing, this is, to be killed by your own husband. Heaven protect the child and watch after her, she too was gentle."

The next person was filmed a little ways away from the camera, as though the crew was reluctant to get close. The grainy, early morning footage couldn't camouflage his poor complexion, or his bulging glass eye emphasized by sagging lids around his real one. As he spoke he spat, fevered with passion, and the sole african american witness brought further ratings to the usually dull local news station. "Well you listen here, I tried to tell all the lovely white folks that letting a coon with a degree move in is like washing your hands with shit, just an awful idea that only gets worse. That's how they get to you," He drawled in his grating, obnoxious voice, face suddenly damp with tears and perspiration. "Nigga's will talk white and infect the white man's schools, then find themselves the holy, pure light that is a white woman and corrupt her with their darkness."

He sobbed, bubbles of snot rubbed away with the back of his frowzy, spotted hand. "Sarah took him in like the wonderful pale skinned saint she is and gave him a half breed child, then what happens? His animal side gets out, the savage jungle side-" He couldn't finish, too caught up in his unwelcome, uncomfortable grief to spew further filth. "Why lord, why!?"

He suddenly grabbed a passerby, an elderly black man with rectangle rimmed glasses and a balding head. He pulled the protesting man into a tight hug, squishing the furious elder, who fought hard against the hold. "Dammit Ruckus! I should kick yo' ass for this-…!" His nice robe was used as a fuzzy snot rag, the trumpet blaring of a blown noise buzzing through the television speakers.

"Ooooh Robert!" The bigot wailed, and the news cut back to Dan, who needed a brief moment to contain his mortification. Then it was washed away by his friendly, morning smile. "Thanks for the scoop Martha, keep up the good work. Now on to Jason from Green Valley, whose video of his retrievers synchronized swimming went viral…"

Robert Jebediah Freeman turned off the television, wrinkles deepening as he frowned. "Damn anchormen.." He grumbled, dark lips fumbling over his uncomfortable, bleached denchers. He was a man who loved gossip, fed off of it, and if it had been any other family he would have eaten this speculation up. The fire, however, struck a little too close to home, and he wasn't so willing to indulge in shock.

Thomas Dubois was a buddy to play poker with, a soft man who just wanted to fit in, too belong. Even if it met spending his spare time with two old geezers.

It was far too difficult to accept the possibility of him actually trying to kill Sarah, the man was incapable of striking her, hell, he struggled to raise his voice. As for an affair...it wasn't so strange to imagine her having one. Robert hardly knew the blonde housewife, and his thoughts darkened with possibilities of hidden romance and an infuriating discovery. After moments of unrealistic, dramatized scenarios, the elder shrugged, deciding that perhaps Tom was driven into rage and did indeed, try to kill the blonde.

Women were crazy, and men were impulsive.

Robert was tired.

He turned the television back on, setting the remote on the table beside his leather lazyboy. He lifted his mug of coffee to his lips, breathing in the strong scent of caffeine before letting the hot liquid enter his mouth.

On top of all the confusion of the pervious night, Robert later received a call from the hospital, informing him that his oldest grandson had once again broken one of his arms. In an almost humorous level of hypocrisy, Robert couldn't comprehend how his two grandsons could get into troublesome situations so easily. He wasn't, and never had been, so careless with his actions, he was sure.

His cell phone chirped, and he snatched the android into his grasp, unlocking his screen and viewing the message. It was from his current dating app, a middle aged woman smiling from the top of the screen.

 _Hey baby! I'm gonna be in town the next couple days, can I stay with you?_

The message was followed by a scandalous selfie and several kiss emojis, bringing a smile to Robert's wrinkle lined features. With all the stress lately, it would be nice to have a female around the house. That is, a female other than the ten year old soon to join.

Robert had gotten a call from the station saying that the Dubois had left their only child in his custody, of all people. He wanted to refuse, he already had two nappy haired brats to deal with, and he had refused, but the guilt tripping of the social worker pierced through his armor of self preservation. After a long, one sided argument, Robert finally consented, understanding it would be a while before the girl was actually moving in.

He had only ever raised boys, first his two sons, both of which despised him, then his two grandsons, who loved him but bewildered him. Becoming the guardian of the youngsters was Robert's opportunity to try again, to do right by these children.

But a little girl? That was far out of his comfort zone. Yes, he adored tiny Jazmine and her sweet smiles. She was polite and well behaved where his grandsons were notoriously rude and rebellious. He frowned, shaking his head dismissively. His feelings towards the girl were beside the point, he hadn't ever had experience with female children. What if he ruined her? Exposed her to too much? To too little?

The stress was too much for the old man, and he rubbed his temples thickly with his fingers, the wrinkled skin pliable.

He thought again of her bright green eyes, they way she'd chirp her morning greetings when visiting his house, how her nose would scrunch up whenever she thought something was 'icky'. She was well mannered, cleanly, impressionable, and radiantly optimistic.

His leather-like face twitched with a ghost of a smile, deciding that perhaps having a daughter wouldn't be so bad.

His phone chirped again, an email from the social worker that was probably concerning the adoption papers and what not. It unintentionally served to remind him of Ashley's unanswered message, and he grinned, neglecting to view the email and instead loading the social media site.

He began typing, nose almost touching the screen.

 _Sure thing baby girl, I've got a spare room just fo-_

He hesitated, brows knitting together. There wouldn't be a spare room any longer, it would become the frilly, pastel escape for a little girl. He erased his message, contemplating a proper response. Ashley couldn't stay with him, not with the delicate situation at hand. Where caution wasn't the normal determining factor for his actions, it ate at his thoughts today. The shock wave of recent tragedy evaporated his self centered thoughts. Social workers would most certainly deem it inappropriate for a child to live in a house where strange women frequented.

 _Why don't you stay with your family? The sibling you mentioned? My house is a little busy. (winking emoji) (sweat drop emoji)_

The message sent, and it was followed immediately by the sequence of moving dots beneath her photo, evidence of her typing a response. The dots vanished, then a chirp and the unfolded response filled his screen.

 _If you don't want me over just say so (frown emoji)_

Robert couldn't tell if she was joking or not, and his past experiences with women led cautioned him against her possibly bitter text. He pulled thoughtfully at the loose skin around his mouth, slight stubble resisting the touch of his moving fingers.

He was beginning to feel the pressure in his head and stomach, the hot churning of anxiety. Robert's had always been horrible, and the growing stress of his duties towards Jazmine and his personal desires was toxic.

Sighing, he locked his phone and set it on the coffee table, abandoning the conversation for the distracting comfort of television.

* * *

Wuncler hospital, a day after the fire.

The walls and floors were pristine, and the entire place smelled sterile, the beeping of heart monitors and the busy quiet of the building occupying white noise. Nurses and doctors bustled off to their designated stations, patching up scrapes and minor injures, diagnosing simple illnesses and the occasional cancer scare, and delivering the occasional baby. The old, sick, and paranoid healthy gathered here, and still the hospital lacked typical activity. Not much happened in the small town off Woodcrest, the most important case currently being the well televised burn victim on the third floor.

No visitors were allowed, but the press didn't stop harassing the hospital staff, trying to get a scoop, even a hint of the updated situation to earn themselves a raise and heavy praise. One dedicated individual had even tried to scale the building, only to lose balance and fractured his collarbone. The doctor had a hay day lecturing that particular individual.

From the third floor, Thomas Dubois lay unconscious in a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in gauze and strapped to machine after machine. The slow, constant drip of his IV was the only movement in the still room. It had taken many hours of labor to pull him from the brink of death, and even then the doctor and nurses were unable to prevent the coma he had fallen into.

Despite his unaware, vegetable like state, the african american lawyer was still handcuffed to the bed, and a police officer stood guard outside his door. Unknowingly, Thomas had become what he had spent his entire life trying to avoid, a criminal. If he ever awoke, which was statistically doubtful, he would be tried and most likely convicted of murder, then sent off to the nearest high security prison.

His wife and pet were dead, daughter left alone in the world, and the entire situation undergoing a heavy investigation.

Thomas Dubois - a man who had ran from his past and hid from exaggerated fears, who had created a cushy, safe life for himself - would never again lay eyes on his child.

* * *

Jazmine shifted, the sneakered soles of her feet raising and lowering. The carpet beneath them was a crimson that grew darker as it stretched across the floor. Wooden pews, rich and well polished, divided and lined the space. Yellow beams of light filtered through dust and stained glass, painting the dark walls with a silencing glow.

Framed by podiums and a small piano, was the center focus of the building. A well loved carving of Jesus on the cross, gazing at the ornate ceiling above. Tentatively, she approached the holy figure, imagining herself letting all her tightly bound feelings loose and freeing the pain from her chest, seeking an answer, in the face of the holy figure above her.

Her feet stopped their movement, however, and instead she remained silent, expressionless. Her hands, which had been raveling and unraveling her fingers with the thin chain of an old necklace, fell limp at her sides. The silver cross dangled from her knuckles, glinting behind it's dark stain of soot.

She had expected to feel anger, betrayal, or maybe even a little nausea at the beauty of the house of god.

Instead, she felt nothing.

She was rooted to her spot, unaffected by the holy decorations. The lazy, afternoon call of a mourning dove sang from beyond the stain glass window. It's silhouette within a thick nest stood stark against the red pane. The sun was bright today, swathed in an unmarred blue. It was uncomfortably warm for someone clad in an oversized jacket. They had given one to her at the station, without her needing to say she was cold. It was pity given to a creature worthy of it.

The fingers of her left hand drew the necklace tight within her grasp, balling into a fist. The sharp, sterling silver cross cut into her palm, and the odd, hot cold effect of flowing blood bothered her little.

It was one of the items recovered from the fire, from her mother's corpse to be precise. They didn't tell Jazmine that bit of information, but she knew. She had been Sarah's daughter for ten years, and she had never seen her mother without it.

The squealing of the front door, then it's slam close. Footsteps and the occasional sharp inhale increased in volume, until Jazmine could feel the weight of the figure behind her. A hot, sweaty hand clasped her shoulder, and she turned knowing that she had taken too long on this wasted trip. The man that loomed above her was known to her as Mr. Carter, and his stoic features hid any sympathy he might feel. "Come on, kiddo," He grunted, cheeks flushed beneath his pale skin. The ginger was like her, his features were considered odd and mostly unattractive. She liked him, his parents had also died when he was young, and he didn't try and talk to her about her suffering. He treated her like a regular child, for the most part, and she appreciated his frankness.

"It's time to go."

His blue eyes flicked up to the crucified man above, and a line appeared between his brows. She reached up and took his warm hand in hers - an action he failed to address - and together they left the church, forms dark against the bright daylight.

From the passenger seat of his personal car, Jazmine rested her chin in her hand, staring out the window. The radio was off, as usual, and she doubted she could stomach music of any kind regardless. Bare trees, a few red tipped and budding with the beginnings of life, rolled past the glass. She could see her reflection through the sideview mirror and hardly recognized herself, curls limp and cheeks colorless. She hardly resembled the innocent child she was.

The strawberry blond driver cleared his throat, the badge on his chest glistening. She turned to face him, silent, and he spoke. "There's blood on your hand." It was phrased as a statement, without the hanging tones of a question. She was by no means obligated to answer, but he would be analyzing her response, verbal or otherwise.

"I cut it." She mumbled from behind her hair, looking down at the small, scabbing wound. A long, pregnant silence filled the closed space. Jazmine stared at her shoes, the dull, plastic rhinestones catching the light.

The pain was minority when paired with her many bruises and scrapes - she looked far more like a homeless kid than she had earlier that winter. Riley had made her dress up like a crack baby for some scheme he was pulling, and it had been fun, like a game. She had actually enjoyed pretending to be what she is now.

An abandoned nestling, still plush with down feathers.

They had told her where they planned on putting her, but she hadn't been listening. What was the point? She didn't know any of her relatives, or if she even had any, and if she was to be a foster kid then she would been given away to strangers. Scraps sold at a salvage yard.

The radio crackled to life, and Mr. Carter turned the volume up, lifting his walkie-talkie to his mouth.

Jazmine listened, but the message was delivered in a series of numbers, and a conversation failed to last longer than a minute.

Mr. Carter turned the car around at the next gas station, heading back towards the station. "What's going on?" Jazmine inquired, suddenly nervous.

He glanced at her, his resting expression one of irritation, although he felt none. "A visitor came for you back at the station, claims to be a relative."

The little girl took the news silently, leaning slowly back into her seat and drawing her small legs to her chest. She didn't know how to react. Happiness? Confusion? Anger? The news did nothing to her, she still felt empty. Blank.

* * *

With a half lidded stare Riley boredly clicked away at the computer screen, watching the bright colors of a game flood his senses. His thoughts didn't dwell too much on the other night's events, he was preoccupied compartmentalizing. The eight year old refused to address his feelings towards the ordeal, and instead focused on filling his time with mundane, mildly entertaining tasks.

At first he had pressed his brother for information regarding his whereabouts that evening, but after a heated argument and a demonstration in one armed martial arts, Riley dropped the subject.

His sibling was bruised and wore a heavy cast set in a sling, plain white and empty of signatures. School had started again today, but none of the Freeman clan attended. It was an unspoken understanding that their education would be put on pause temporarily, with everything going on. Albeit even if they had gone back to class, Riley knew his sibling wouldn't be receiving any signatures anyway. With how cruel he was to Cindy, how he had managed the Christmas play, and how brutal his playground tuffles were, kids strayed from his path. The only friend he had was little Jazmine, and it was clear she wouldn't be her cheery self for a while.

Riley glanced away from his screen, blinking the burning sensation from his eyes, and directed his gaze towards his brother. The ten year old had been going through his stuff all day, selecting books from his shelves and paper stuffed shoe boxes from the closet. All of his well kept, private items were laying atop the bed, some being marked with a large "B" in sharpy, the others returned to their designated locations. He did all of this without complaint, despite his injured arm, which he had taken out of the sling.

He wasn't speaking, had no music playing; just fumed as he silently proceeded through his unspoken, secret task. Riley noticed that the items that were most frequently marked with a "B" were the paper documents. He had once, while his brother was out of the house, snooped through those very pages, curious as to their purpose. Unfortunately his efforts were fruitless, his reading level was too low to make sense of the wordy, boring scrawl.

The urge to start conversation, to lighten his sibling's hard stare, overwhelmed him. Riley cleared his throat, which failed to gain the attention of the older brother. "So, uh, you talk to Jazmine yet?"

Huey froze, the only indication of his hearing. The book he was holding was probably the boy's favorite, and the afro-headed Freeman stared at it's cover with softening eyes. He then shook his head, placing it on his bedside table and properly responding to Riley.

"No. I haven't."

Riley frowned, spinning the desk chair to face his sibling in full. The window light streaked past the blinds, illuminating the dust in the room.

"I thought you was her friend?" He questioned, trying his best to refrain from insulting him. Lately, it had been like walking in a minefield when speaking with Huey - he had the bruises to prove it.

"She doesn't need me right now." The older Freeman began, mildly surprising the younger with his willingness to converse. "She's in mourning, and you know how sensitive she is. It's going to take some time for her to get over it. If ever." His tone was callous and almost annoyed, and it hid the fact that his brows lacked their usual furrow.

"That's a cold situation- her Daddy torched her momma, you could be a little bit sympathetic." Riley's arms crossed firmly over his small chest. He thought his brother would be the last person to say something so harsh.

"He didn't." Was the young, self proclaimed revolutionary's response.

"What chu mean 'he didn't'?" Riley mocked, scowling.

"You really think Tom killed Sarah? That Mr. Dubois could plot her murder? That man was terrified of prison! Use your head for once Riley."

The eight year old, offended, stiffened at the jab. "Niggah you gay! Use your head, Jazmine's mom and dad were always arguing, the whole neighborhood could hear. How many times has he been thrown out and sent crying to our house? Huh?"

Huey scowled, turning back to his books.

This pleased the eight year old, who was convinced he'd gained the upper hand in the argument. "Look at chu, you ain't got nothing to say, do ya?" A wet cackle escaped his young lips, full of glee and spite.

"I am not arguing with you about this Riley." Huey affirmed.

"That's cause you know you lost, bitch." He retorted, still brimming with mirth. It felt good to laugh, to win. He continued with spite. "Shoot, all I know is that Mrs. Dubois had it comin'. Cookin' her nasty ass cobbler all the time an' talking to gay ass pussies like Usher."

The older brother closed his eyes and sighed, the drawn out exhale an attempt to calm the anger visibly writhing beneath the surface. "Whatever." He relented, placing his books back on their shelves and gathering the "B" pile in his arms. The sprained one rested against the pile's border to prevent it from toppling over, and his healthy arm clutched it tight.

"What' chu doin with all that shit anyway?" Riley inquired, the harshness dissipating from his tone. Curiosity lit his young eyes as he watched, and his hands gripped the slick arms of the chair.

Tense silence. Huey adjusted the towering stack to balance better in his arms, then turned to leave, wobbling slightly as he crossed the bedroom. He had little difficulty navigating across Riley's sprawled assortment of clothes, toys, and shoes, despite the limited visibility and wavering load.

Riley followed, grumbling all the while and refusing to help as his sibling struggled down the stairs. It would have been futile had he offered, the older sibling rejected aid of any kind, seeing it as a contagiously habitable crutch. Independence was placed on the same holy pedestal as truth.

Huey made it safely to the first floor with his stack intact, then headed towards the back yard. The Freeman back yard was average sized, seemingly small when compared to the size of the sprawling house itself. It had two trees, one a towering pine and the other a ten year old oak. Between the trees, closer to the back door of the home, was a stone circular fire pit, designed for summer marshmallow roasting and hot dog cooking. The Freeman's hadn't used it once, however, it having been installed by the previous family.

Huey dropped the papers, shoe boxes, and occasional journals in the pit, the pile tall enough to stand just over the rim of the hole.

"What?" Riley questioned, standing still in the yard as his sibling headed towards the garage. "You gonna start a fire?" Huey ignored him and the younger waited by the pit, curling his stiff toes and lamenting his lack of shoes. Their normal color lacked in the colder weather, and with each passing minute they began to ache.

"Good." He mumbled, unheard by his sibling across the yard. "Imma 'bout to freeze."

The long, needle shaped leaves beneath his feet were dry and brittle, and the air still retained the lingering scent of smoke, a sobering reminder. He glanced down at the pile, reading a snippet of underlined text.

Ward Connerly is a Boot-Licking Uncle Tom

A Critical Look at Black Conservatives by Huey Freeman

He huffed, feeling a little annoyed. "Whatever nigga.." He mumbled.

Huey returned with the lighter. It was one of the long, plastic ones typically used for candles. It seemed abnormally large in his young hands, the knuckles of which were white. He ignited the gas with the quick motion of his thumb, a small yet steady flame flowering from mouth. The mass of paper and books lit easy, there being no moisture in the air due to the drought.

As the flame caught it grew, and in a matter of seconds the pile was reduced to blackened curls, popping and swathed in living heat.

Despite being gracious for the warmth Riley took a step back from the roar, glancing away from the flames to his older sibling. Huey's mouth was set in a firm line, and his eyes retained their normal glare. Yet there was a weakness to his form, a shudder in his loose clothes which could be mistaken for the wind. The proud child was trembling, eyes never leaving his creation, the glowing gluttony with ambitions beyond the clouds.

They stood side by side in silence, letting the flames subside, before Huey abruptly turned, and reentered the house.

Riley watched him leave, and remained rooted to the spot, beside the dying embers. The wind drifted past, the trees singing in tune with the splitting binds and boiling glue.

* * *

When they got to the station, Jazmine was told to sit in the waiting area and was left to her own devices. She clasped her small hands in her lap and attempted to refrain from swinging her legs. Respectful and polite - the struggle of every child no matter their troubles. Energy was simply too abundant, and boredom was the blight of the moment. The polyester floors shone as though they had been recently waxed, the white noise of the station doing little to ease suffocating feeling of silence when waiting.

Mr. Carter was no longer on duty, and had left, rubbing the top of her head on his way out. He had a dog that needed walking. The officer at the desk had been dutifully attending to a large book, jotting unknown things of varying importance down without a waver in her progress. There was no attempt at easing Jazmine's nerves, nonchalance the only expression flitting across her face.

The sound of a large door opening alerted Jazmine of oncomers. She glanced up from the floor and dropped her heels. She had been testing out her theory on how many tiles could be blocked with her right foot, and now abandoned the made up game in favor of people watching. The deputy who appeared down the hall was no stranger to her, he had come to one of her father's trials once - she recognized the handle bar mustache. He was of little interest, however, her mood still too low to take fascination at the shine of his head. Albeit the stranger sauntering beside him was familiar enough to make her blood run cold.

The woman wore a gray tweety bird sweatshirt with all the regality of trailer park trash, long, thin, hay colored hair strung up behind her head in a haphazard ponytail. Jean cut offs suffocated her bulging thighs, the visible skin pale and spiderwebbed with blue veins. Her legs thinned considerably past fat knees, muscle lacking calves giving way to bird like ankles. The fluidity of her movements was diminished by the squawking of her crocs, and she stood close to the uncomfortable middle aged deputy.

They stopped before the staring girl, and only when the sound of footsteps ceased did the stranger notice her. The familiar deputy seemed impatient to be rid of the clinging slime of a woman, and with a clipped tone introduced the two, neglecting formalities. "Ms. Dubois I'd like to introduce you to your new guardian - probably - Ashley Higgins. Ms. Higgins: Jazmine Dubois."

The woman smiled, the stretching of her face making wet sucking sounds as she spoke. Her teeth were straight and evenly spaced, tinted yellow and gray from a long standing affair with cigarettes. "Hi there little one! You can call me Aunt Ash, don't that have a nice ring to it?" She threw her head back and laughed, revealing an eye tattoo on her collar bone. "Hmmhmn," She finished, dabbing her eyes and nudging the dead faced officer. "Make's me sound like a mystery agent on the TVer somtin'."

Jazmine's eyes remained focused on the face, the horrible, impossible face, words and gestures ignored. Her small hands clutched the bench with force enough to stop blood flow, nails white beneath chipped polish.

She blinked, swallowing past the wall of emotions that left her stumped, aching and stupefied. The face, however groomed by week old smokey eyes and oily sheen, was the twisted reflection of her dead mother's.

The same hawkish nose, thin lips, and wide cerulean orbs framed by crows feet. Hell, even the laugh was similar, carrying subtle patterns of similarity only siblings could possess. This woman, this Aunt Ash, was an impossibility. Her parents didn't have any siblings, she didn't even think they had any parents. They had never spoke to Jazmine about their lives before she was born, back when they were kids, and she hadn't ever thought to question it.

She lowered her gaze to the floor, forcing her fingers to relax and hover away from her seat edge. She searched for peace within her, a raft to cling to if only for a moment.

Ashley turned to the Deputy, ponytail swaying. "She dumb?"

Jazmine's eyes darted back up, startled. Cerulean met jade, the latter beginning to mist over. "Well speak." Ashley prompted, hands planted on her hips in a smooth movement of authority. The ten year old girl wanted to hide, to retreat back into her massive curls and escape from the two towering adults before her. "'Llo," She mumbled, the sound stumbling across the air. Ashley's eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth turning down in distaste. It seemed Jazmine wasn't making a very good first impression.

The Deputy had had enough, and cleared his throat, directing the woman's attention back to him. "So Ms. Higgins, if you do indeed desire custody your niece, you'll have to provide proper documentation. Place of residence, criminal background -"

"I've already given all that." She interjected, smiling in a way that was supposed to be sweet. "It just has to go through processing. Sweet JazJaz will be living with me in miami - won't you pumpkin?" She cooed, bony fingers taking hold of the young girl's cheek and tugging it forcefully. Jazmine flinched and escaped her grasp, eyes wide with vexation, then rubbed her reddened cheek. _What am I, five?_

The officer sighed at the uncomfortable display of affection, then continued speaking. "I see. Well despite that, it appears that your sister and her husband put their daughter into their neighbor's custody, an older man named Robert Freeman. We appoint guardianship to you, but if he fights for her you may not win."

This caught Ashley and Jazmine's attention. The child didn't know what to think, remembering the many antics she had been victim of due to the Freeman clan. Ashley seemed angered at the prospect, all attempts at chivalry abandoned.

She reached behind her and grabbed Jazmine with her frigid hands, who yelped as she was tugged into an uncomfortable embrace. Ashley smelled of cigarettes and axe cologne, sour and displeasing. Her body was a strange combination of bony and lumpy, and her chin dug into the child's scalp.

"I ain't gonna let my little biscuit get taken away from me! No sir!"

"Get off of me!" Jazmine incoherently cried, voice muffled by the gray sweatshirt her face was deeply lodged in. Her curls frizzed and puffed beneath her aunt's arms, caught painfully between the both of them.

Ashley reiterated her point, voice hard and blue eyes piercing the officer. "This child is mine."

* * *

Despite all his effort, and great it was, Huey Freeman couldn't rid himself of the terrible guilt he felt.

He understood emotions leaving his control such as that could cause him to miscalculate a step, make a mistake, and further endanger those closest to him; but the strength of reason was whipped away in the rip tide.

He closed his eyes against the memory of The White Shadow, his smoke stinking, tailored suit soiled from their fight and a wicked smile on his face. Huey grasped his injured arm tightly, despairing over his loss. _Maybe I'm too young,_ He thought, _Maybe I've taken on too much. Overestimated myself._ He grit his teeth, and tried to ignore how helpless and lost he felt, like the child he was.

What was he to do? Where was he to go? It was clear he wasn't permitted to stay, he had failed to protect those around him, and his Mother would be ashamed.

From the hill he looked down upon the serenity of Woodcrest, springtime blooms and their lost petals filling the afternoon air, their scent masking the rot that had infected the suburbs. They were there, mourning below him as he watched from a forgotten perspective.

For an instant he considered staying, reluctant to leave the area he had chose to call home. He could disperse the darkness, the fires of his unrequited passion burning bright enough to vanquish the demons that have taken hold.

He could help them recover.

"I have no right to be here, to comfort them." He said aloud, the tangibility of his argument strengthening his resolve. He looked down to his chest, where his sprained arm rested in a navy sling. He had failed in his battle against the White Shadow, losing his chance for revenge. "I lost, and I can't sit around feeling sorry for myself. I have to get stronger."

Within the shadows of the Oak tree, Huey escaped the kiss of sunlight, eyes lost beneath his furrowed brows. From his olive shirt sleeve a red patch contrasted starkly, the opposite colors emphasizing a star.

When he leaves, he'd have to lay low, hiding from probing eyes. He'd have to find a way off the grid, where he'd be safe yet close. With airline security these days there wasn't a shot in hell a runaway would make it out of the states.

The child paused his thoughts, letting the cool air brush his cheeks in a soft caress. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing and the valley air of Woodcrest filling his nostrils. The smell was clean and subtle, and releasing a husky breath he let himself rest content in the scent he grew to love.

No, he resolved, retreating back into himself. He would not escape beyond the borders of his country. Huey looked back at his home, at the sprawled suburbs settled within leafless trees. He planned on returning, and continuing his rage against injustice.

* * *

At the Freeman residence, the head of the house stood in his living room, hand hovering over the ringing phone. He was hesitant to answer for reasons unbeknownst to him, and used his confusion as an excuse to avoid doing so.

The sun outside had long since set, and the living room was illuminated by the warmth of lamp light, a barrier against the natural darkness. Robert pondered over the identity of the person across the line, someone trying to reach him with desperation conveyed through the shrill of ringing electronics. I could be a salesman, a pretty lady - he wished - or an angry neighbor reporting the misadventures of his grand children. He disliked all but one of the possibilities, and finally forced himself to lift the plastic communicator from it's matching bed.

"Am I speaking with Robert Freeman?" A man's voice asked, snapping with authority.

"This is him.." the older man answered, turning to face the loud entrance of his youngest grandchild, who kicked the front door closed behind him. The child had headphones in and was bobbing his head to the beat, resembling a chicken with his thin neck and small shoulders.

"This is officer Carter of the WPD. I'm calling to inform you the the situation regarding you taking custody of a Jazmine Dubois has changed. A blood relative has been located, and she has claimed to be Jazmine's rightful guardian."

He took the news like one would a mouth full of lukewarm coffee, the lines of his face deepening and eyes scrunching in distaste. "Wh-what?"

Riley opened the fridge, then closed it, barking across the home. "YO GRANDDAD CAN WE GET SOME FOOD UP IN HERE OR NAH? I THOUGHT YOU WENT TO THE STORE?"

Granddad chose to ignore him, turning back towards the living room in an attempt to focus.

"Our records show you expressed displeasure at the idea of gaining custody over a third child, and a solution has been found."

"I thought Jazmine had no living relatives?" Robert rubbed his temple, mispositioning his gasses then correcting them. "What about the will?" He asked, grasping for control. It was true he didn't want the child, not at first, but further thought had changed his resentment into anticipation. He wouldn't admit it, never aloud, but a little girl may bring a level of calm into his wild life.

"Well Mr. Freeman, the will can be disregarded if a blood relative asks the government for custody."

Riley had crossed the room, and was now standing in front of his grandfather, shifting his feet irritably. "Granddad did you hear me? Look, I know your hearing ain't what it used to be, but da- _darn,_ it seemin' like you ignoring me."

Robert sent a vicious glare towards the child, a face the promised punishment if he continued talking. He plugged his free ear with his index finger, pressing the corded phone closer to his head. "I'm sorry Officer…?"

"Carter."

"Right. But I just don't understand. Who is adopting Jazmine?"

The young boy perked up at the mention of his recently homeless neighbor, pulling out his earbuds and listening attentively.

Papers fluttered at the other end of the line. "A Ms. Ashley Higgins, sister to Sarah Dubois, maiden name Higgins."

Robert felt the blood drain from his face, and he dropped the phone, letting the plastic bounce then slide across the hardwood floor. It pulled the wire cord taught, and the phone bed came clattering down along with the end table, creating a loud ruckus. Robert swore and Riley jumped back, grabbing the phone before his grandparent could and bringing it to his ear.

"Aye wha's all this about Jazmine? She ain't gon be living whit us no more?"

"Damnit boy!" Robert exclaimed, snatching the phone away. He pressed it to his ear and apologies spewed from his mouth, only to falter at the dead tone at the end of the line.

He swatted his youngest across the back of his head, eliciting a loud wail of pain. "See what you did! He hung up!" Robert slammed the phone back into the dial box, crossing his arms. "Now what're we supposed to do?"

Riley rolled away from him and stood up, just a little taller than the sitting adult. "Oionno," He mumbled, before changing his tone. "Hey granddad have you seen Huey? He disappeared this afternoon an-"

"No I haven't seen your dumbass brother! He's probably out tryin to tell white people 'the truth'. Who cares? Go to bed."

The child shrugged then raced to up the stairs, cackling back, "Well if he don't come home, then I get my own room! Yeah-boy!"

* * *

 **I usually don't do end notes, so I'll keep this short. A lot happened in this chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think. If you review while logged in, I'll PM you and respond/thank you. I hope the OC's are acceptable, they ARE NOT the story's focus. I hope you all have a good week!**


	5. The Tides

Chapter 5

 _I pretend_

 _To live in the present._

 _Now is what I crave,_

 _Flinches at the feeder,_

 _Sunlight on a rose._

 _But memory_

 _The relentless tide_

 _Suddenly brings me alive_

 _A forgotten moment_

 _With such a freight_

 _Of passionate grief in it_

 _I cry out_

 _Alone._

 _The past is Now._

 _The tide rises and falls._

 _There is no shutting it out._

 _\- The Tides_

" _This child is mine."_

Jazmine clung tightly to her sleeping bag, the rolled heap of fabric providing much needed comfort. The Freeman family had only recently moved in, just before the start of the school year, and her few interactions with her new neighbors kept them at the lowly rank of strangers. Her mommy and daddy were leaving for a weekend trip together, and Jazmine was to stay with the Freeman clan.

"Ready pumpkin?" Her mother asked, holding out her hand to the child. Jazmine smiled weakly, and nodded, taking her parent's hand. They left the house, walking down the sidewalk and towards their neighbors. Jazmine stared at her feet watching the ground pass beneath her as they moved.

Sensing her daughter's discomfort, Sarah Dubois squeezed her hand, making brief eye contact and adopting a smile. "You're going to have a lot of fun little lady. Robert has two grandsons for you to play with."

Jazmine's grip tightened on her sleeping bag, carrying it with one hand was becoming a struggle. "What's their names?" She asked, her stomach a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Her mother tilted her head in thought, and Jazmine admired the way her blonde hair shifted atop her shoulders. It had gotten longer, and the woman was scheduled for a cut soon, much to her daughter's distaste. Whenever she worked she fixed it so not a strand was out of place, slick and professional. Jazmine wished she'd keep it long and wear it down more often. If the ten-year-old had hair like that, she would surely be a princess.

"Riley is the youngest, such a nice name, I think if you had been a boy we would have named you that. And the other one...Henry, I think. Well, maybe it's Howie."

"You mean you don't know?" Jazmine prodded, surprised. If her mother didn't know then Jazmine may have to ask, and the prospect sent new waves of nerves crashing into her.

At her old house in the country they lived miles away from anyone else, it had been like a retreat from the surrounding city only the wealthy could enjoy. She had found it difficult to make friends and spent she summers playing alone.

They crossed the street, stepping into the driveway of the boys in question. "You can ask him yourself sweetie."

Sarah knocked on the door and let go of Jasmine's hand. While the pair awaited a response Sarah subconsciously twisted her wedding ring, delicate fingers rubbing the band. Jazmine chewed her bottom lip, wishing she was someone else, someone prettier and admired. She closed her hands and looked down at her small fists. These boys would be her friends; her wavered determination reaffirmed with forced resolve.

The door was yanked open by a boy Jazmine's age, a steady calm about him despite the rough motion. The first thing she noticed, the first feature everyone noticed, was his hair, grown into a wild afro of massive proportions. It made the rest of him seem small. She had to force her gaze past his hair and to his face. His dark eyes flitted to her then away, and she felt her stomach turn to ice at the short acknowledgement; it felt too much like a dismissal.

"Hello Mrs. Dubois," He greeted, neither his expression nor his tone lightened with the words. "Granddad will be just a moment."

With the mention of the grandparent, shouts rang down from the second floor, the recognizable squeals of a tantrum being thrown and the frustrated, disciplinary cries of Robert Freeman. Those cries did little to settle the young girl's nerves, her having never been yelled at by an adult before. A strict tone was all it took to send her into tears.

She moved to take a cautionary step back, but the sudden force of the boy's gaze kept her still. A glimmer in the almandine depths of his eyes, the small light a threatening, glacial force. She felt she needed to be brave, she _must_ be brave, the fear of his disappointment climbed up her legs with its hooked claws.

She forced a timid smile onto her features - a silent treaty - fingers digging into her sleeping bag. _Take my introduction, accept it so I can breathe._

To her relief, he gave the briefest of nods, barely a reprieve from his stone like stillness, and she visibly slumped, the surrounding world returning. She felt the sunlight on her skin, the heat of the day, heard the coo-OO-ooo of a mourning dove, the sound bouncing off of the closed garage doors found in suburbia. The warmth of acceptance bloomed in her chest, an ode to possible friendship.

An old man appeared in the doorway, pushing the boy back into the depths of the house, plastering a polite, neighborly smile on his weathered face. "Sorry about that Mrs. Dubois, my uh - grandson needed some discipline. Boy it sure is hot outside, would you like some water? Or maybe a cool glass of orange juice? Cheese?" Before Sarah could get a word out in response to the almost conspiratorial twinkle in the old man's eyes, he turned his attention on Jasmine, whose throat had gone dry. He leaned forwards, hands on his knees, surprising lithe in his age, and grinned. "And who is this little angel?"

Jazmine smiled, a small giggle escaping her lips, taking an instant liking to Mr. Freeman. Orange juice and he thought she looked like an angel? Angels looked more like her mother than anything else, with their blonde hair, porcelain skin, and downy white wings. Despite this truth, he thought of her as one. She was flattered into giddiness.

"Jazmine..." She supplied, bashful beneath his warm gaze. She didn't have a grandfather, and briefly wondered if all of them had welcoming eyes like his.

Behind him, the boy pressed his lips tight, walking away and leaving her line of vision. The grandfather took no notice, straightening and standing to the side. He gestured towards the interior, grinning. "Well come on in little baby, you can help me with dinner and then we'll watch a movie, sound good?" She nodded and looked to her mom for permission.

Sarah had appeared to be trying to get a word in, and with Roberts silence finally had a chance to. "G rated films only, and no sugar after five, no water before bed. Be sure to keep the hall light on, Jazmine won't sleep in the dark. Oh and-"

"Mommy!" Jazmine groaned, refusing to look at Mr. Freeman. _I'm not a baby!_ She didn't want the boy from earlier to hear, or anyone her age for that matter. She had a hard-enough time fitting in.

Sarah composed herself, morphed from frantic to doting, and became attentive to her child. "Love you sweetie," She bent down and hugged her tightly, warm and loving. "Daddy and I will be back on Sunday." She gave Jazmine's cheek a wet peck, and frowned when the girl rubbed it off. "Love you mommy," She mumbled, ready to be done with goodbyes.

Quickly the frizzy haired girl entered the home; Mr. Freeman exchanging goodbyes and assuring the mother that any worries she had were for naught. The interior wasn't very different from her own home, similar design, same neutral color schemes. The entrance faced off with a staircase, where the second-floor hall was exposed in the form of an indoor balcony. To her right was the kitchen, her left the living room. Beside the stairs was a hall heading to guest rooms and the basement door, she knew, for her home had the same.

The front door shut behind her, and Mr. Freeman sighed, appearing relieved to be done with his conversation with her mother. "Alright little baby, what sounds good for dinner?"

She set her bag down neatly on the floor, beside the empty coat rack. The house was clean thus far, and her anxiety had begun to dissipate. "You mean I can choose?" She asked, surprised.

Mr. Freeman laughed, a jolly, loud sound that ran through his whole body. "Of course baby girl, you're our guest. So, what'll it be?"

"Mac and cheese?" She offered shyly. It wasn't anything complex, but by god was it tasty.

"Then macaroni and cheese it is! You're lucky baby girl, I just happen to have noodles and Velveeta cheese."

A new face appeared, or rather, the same face. A boy shorter than Jazmine and clearly a little younger had bounced down the stairs. His face was small and round, the smooth surface filled with large, expressive eyes and a smile that illuminated them. His hair was braided tightly against his scalp and at the base of his skull it twisted freely down, hanging equivalent to the length of his neck.

"Boy you better not even think about acting up, we have company, so be on your best behavior! Act like you're someone else."

"Aye granddad, why can't I be me? I wasn't gon do nothin cept'-"

"That's right!" The elder interrupted, forcing Jazmine to step back as he leaned in towards his youngest. "You are going to do nothing. Go sit next to your brother."

To Jazmine, who had been a silent observer, the boy looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. He turned and faced her, expression suddenly blank. Then a sly smile grew, and with its growth came a feeling of apprehension. "Aye Huey," He crowed, wandering into the living room where his brother evidently was. He shot Jazmine one last look before disappearing from view.

"I'll uh," Mr. Freeman started, brows furrowed in concern beneath his thick, box framed glasses. "I'll get started on the food, you go play with the boys." She wanted to object, to remind him of his previous proposal of her helping with dinner, but found she couldn't, years of obedience being ground into her. "Yes Mr. Freeman." She mumbled, turning nervously to the living room where the back of the sofa faced her.

She entered the room and could clearly hear the conversation, the backs of the two boy's heads visible.

"Can a white person have an afro?" Riley mused, and the question sounded genuine.

"Only if they paint landscapes on public television." Huey quipped, and his heavy, irritated tone surprised her almost more than his words.

She didn't get his reference, but was used to the feeling of being left out. The pressing anxiety as to the subject of Riley's inquiry was dismissed, it wasn't the time to be insecure. She rounded the couch, and found herself beneath the sharp gazes of the two. Strangely, the resemblance stoic Huey had when held to lively Riley was uncanny, they could have been twins if not for the age difference.

 _Now or never._ She thought, then smiled, blasting past any reservations by utilizing her greatest strength: her optimism. "My name's Jazmine." She introduced, dipping into a slight curtsy like she had seen on tv. "My favorite movie is Gone with the Wind and my favorite color is pink, but not hot pink, just regular pink. Do you want to be friends?"

Riley was the first to move, scowling while addressing Huey's previous statement - and ignoring her completely. "Nigga, ain't nobody get your old ass references." He crossed his arms and uncrossed them, turning to jab a finger at Jazmine.

"You black or white?" He asked, his bluntness foreign to her. She clamped her open mouth shut, suddenly self-conscious.

Huey's gaze narrowed at her silence, and he closed the book he had been holding.

"Well?" The younger brother prompted, and took a step closer. She didn't think a kid so small could be so intimidating.

"I, uh." She fumbled, trying to answer, then stopped. "Does it matter?" She defended.

Four duplicates of the same eye stared at her in disbelief.

She clapped her hand to her palm, frustrated and nervous. "Okay look, my mom is white, and my dad is black, so that makes me…" She hadn't really thought about it before. She knew she wasn't white, and likewise she could have been black, so she was in the middle…? Why did there need to be categories anyway?

"Black." Huey remarked. "That makes you black." The was no anger in his voice, nor his gaze, and the furrowing in his brows had diminished. He looked worried, like people do when they're speaking to someone who is delusional and lives beyond the boundaries of reality.

"You're making it sound like I'm picking sides." She complained.

"Bitch you are picking sides!" The younger brother snapped, recapturing her attention.

Jazmine shook her head, eyes beginning to water at his tone. "No, I'm not, I won't."

"You're black." Huey repeated, stilled stunned. "You have an afro; how could you argue otherwise?"

"Yea, there's nothin' wrong being black, I'm black, my brother's black, Obama's black!"

"I do NOT have an afro!" She shrieked.

"Would you prefer to be called white?" Huey asked, disgusted.

"No! That's not what I'm saying at all!"

"Then what are you saying?" He demanded.

Overwhelmed, frustrated tears escaped down her cheeks despite her efforts to stop them. "Why do I have to pick?" She asked, but her question was ignored.

Riley's threw his hands up in the air, scowling. "And now this bitch crying."

"Get a hold of yourself." Huey scolded.

Robert entered the living room at a brisk pace, hands on his hips. "What the _hell_ is going on here? Jazmine hasn't been here for five minutes and you two nappy haired dumbasses have already made her cry."

"But granddad she-"

"Shut up, I ain't raising any bullies in this house. Apologize!"

Riley gaped. "What?"

"Apologize or Jazmine and I will be the only ones eating tonight." Robert put his proverbial foot down, ending all arguments.

Or at least tried to. Huey picked up his book and tucked it beneath his arm, standing and walking away. "I wasn't going to eat that processed trash anyway."

Riley spoke over his sibling's departure, Jazmine listened, but her eyes were trained on Huey. He climbed the stairs and was gone and her hands fell to her sides.

"I'm not missing out on mac and cheese, I'll apologize. I'm sorry that yose whitewashed and confused _Mariah_. There, I said it." He flopped onto the sofa, remote in hand and surfing through the channels before his grandfather got a word out.

Robert rubbed his nose beneath his glasses, then sighed and righted them. "That's the best I can do baby girl, don't be too upset, unlike you, these boys don't have manners. Let's go make supper, okay?"

She nodded, and wiped her face, sniffing.

They walked through the entryway and into the kitchen. Jazmine stared up at the second floor as they passed. "Mr. Freeman, is Huey really going without dinner?"

Robert adjusted his sweater, it was the cheesy kind that old men wore so frequently it became a cliché.

"You know it little baby, the Freeman clan doesn't tolerate behavior like that, nun uh, not in this house we don't."

"I didn't want anyone to get in trouble."

"Those two would've gotten into trouble with or without you' little baby, it's in their nature to be misbehaving, ungrateful-"

She interrupted his list before it began, uncomfortable around an adult who so easily bad mouths his family. "They can't be all bad."

If Mr. Freeman had heard her it didn't show. Jazmine chewed her lip, then let the topic fade.

Outside, it had begun raining. It clamored against the windows and ceiling, the sound fading and returning in bursts. They settled into silence, Jazmine learning the placement of items in the room and enjoying the minimal decorations.

Atop the kitchen island, next to a bowl of fruit, was a framed photograph of the two Freeman children. Where one seemed distracted, glancing away from the camera at some inner trouble, the other grinned with vigor enough for them both.

Mr. Freeman occasionally muttered to himself, and Jazmine's ears caught: "Shoot, that boy's skinny enough as it is, he's going to end up bitch-less - all skin and bones -and you don't wanna be bitch-less. Where's the pepper? Damn kids...I'm bitch-less right now…" A long pause, then, "You can't live like a rabbit!"

After making the meal and enduring a short stretch of well-meant small talk, Jazmine filled an extra plate with food and took it upstairs. She told not the youngest Freeman nor the grandfather, embarking up the staircase with a caution customary to first time guests. To the left of her was a bathroom, Granddad's bedroom, and a linen closet. To her right was a guest room, still bare and filled with unopened boxes, two more closets, a window and the last room. She knocked on the final door, just as she did throughout the hallway during her search.

It opened mid knock, and her peer was before her, dark eyes glaring.

She swallowed and her offering, the apology, was shoved into his hands. Mac and cheese nearly toppled from the paperware.

His mouth twitched with the unnerving promise of words, and she rushed to explain herself, speaking without plan or reservations. "I thought you might be hungry and I'm so sorry for earlier!"

He looked sourly down at the meal. A serving of mac and cheese, which had cooled to room temperature by now, and beside it a small salad of diced tomatoes and spinach. "I wasn't joking about not eating."

Immediately her gaze dropped to the hardwood floor, self-conscious yet again. Like a fish her mouth opened and closed. His feet moved, both pointed towards her. "I...I'm such a crybaby - but I never wanted anyone to get in trouble and _please_ don't be mad."

"I'm not."

She closed her mouth, eyes darting to his face. They took in each other.

There was a light in his irises despite his unsmiling face. It was the same warmth his grandfather and brother had, his however, made the sun double in size.

He made her feel anxious, like she had been caught naked in public and he was the first and only person to notice. It was nerve wracking and admittedly a little exhilarating.

The feeling would remain throughout the short duration of their friendship. She admired him to a fault, and her parents couldn't stop her instant friendship. She was devoted to him.

"It was Jazmine?" He shifted to angle his body to the side of the doorway. It gave room to enter.

Happiness hit her with such force and intensity it took her breath away, and she smiled goofily. "Yeah."

Was this how it felt to make a friend?

He walked to a circular table by the closet, and she followed.

"At least you included some uncooked vegetables. My Granddad strips them of any nutritional value by boiling them in pork." He stopped, and grimaced. "Do you eat meat?"

She blinked. "Yes."

"Do you like animals?"

"Of course!" Just the thought of them made her glow. She loved everything from cats to dogs to ponies, which were her favorites. "They're so cute."

They both took a seat, his back towards the window and hers to the closet.

"Even cows, pigs, and chickens?"

"Mm hmm. Daddy and Mommy took me to a petting zoo and it was super fun. The chickens weren't even in cages! They were so cute! They just ran up to us and we got to feed them. She swung her feet beneath her, ankles crossed, and added, They're really fast though." She couldn't keep her smile off her face. Her cheeks ached deliciously.

He eyed her from his end of the table. He took a bite of his food, chewed then swallowed.

"It's murder."

She froze. " _What?"_

"The animals you eat are taken away from their families, from their nice petting zoos and farms, killed, slaughtered, cut into teeny tiny pieces then sold. By eating meat not only are you destroying their families but you are participating willingly in a system that profits over murder."

He was heartless and firm, his tone indicating that not only was he correct but there would be no opposing argument.

Jazmine felt her throat tighten, and she blinked rapidly, shifting her feet as quick tears rolled down her face. She sniffled, nodded, and swallowed. "What do I, what can I do?"

He leaned back in his seat, eyes unblinking. "You canno-" His grandfather's booming voice broke through Huey's sentence, and the boy's words died. "You kids ready to watch a movie?"

Jazmine was already gone, bounding down the hall with a giddy squeal. She hardly registered Huey's rushed, "Just don't eat meat!" And missed his exasperated sigh of, " _damn..."_

They watched Shark Tale, with Will Smith, and Jazmine giggled and oooed at the film. She loved the beauty of the ocean, and the funny characters. Riley claimed he was too old to watch the movie, but joined them nevertheless, laughing from time to time as he got sucked in and forgot to remain aloof.

Huey didn't join them, but that was okay. There were many other sleep overs and kid films after the initial night, and as she grew closer to him his appearances increased in number.

That night she went to bed with a smile on her face, tucked in by Mr. Freeman's gentle weathered hands. He was just as good as Mommy and Daddy, she decided. For a long time, she laid awake in the dim glow of the hallway light, warm and safe.

When she woke, it wasn't in the comfort of the Freeman's home, nor in her own room. She was cold and stiff from sleeping on the bench in the police station. Her hands reached for her blanket, but met only cold skin and wrinkled clothes. Blearily she blinked, eyes adjusting to the florescent lights, and beside her was Aunt Ashley, her shoulders covered with the stolen blanket. The woman's head lolled to the side as she shifted in her slumber, and Jazmine's jade gaze was locked onto her matted, blonde hair.

There was no beauty to be found.

* * *

To say Robert was concerned was an understatement, to say he was upset was almost worse. He was beyond worried, agitated, nervous, or anxious. No, none of those terms would befit the old man who had spent the day punching numbers into the landline, screaming into the mouthpiece until his voice grew raw, and slamming the phone into it's cradle. His head contained ringing bells of the loudest volume that clanged and pounded against the interior of his skull. His denchers rubbed harshly against his gums, his clothes itched from extended wear, and he was in desperate need of a shower.

In conclusion: Robert Freeman was undeniably, irrevocably pissed off.

B.E.T had been blazing on the TV without relent and no snide comments were made, no lectures given or brawls ignited. Junk food - not soul food, Robert was a little too stressed to indulge in his favorite pastime of cooking - was eaten in peace. A growing pile of newspapers lay atop the kitchen table, untouched after Robert's glance through.

It had been over twenty-four hours since anyone had seen Huey, hell, it had probably been double that since he himself had seen his eldest grandchild.

His blood pressure was wickedly high, he assumed, due to the irritable, suffocating feeling he had been burdening throughout the day. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if Huey was his only worry, but he had to think about Jazmine as well.

Earlier he and Riley had gone to the store, and in a hurried flurry of spending that left him anxious and mildly depressed, they had purchased clothes, toiletries, school supplies that she had lost amongst toys and decorations. His shopping list had kept falling from his shaking hands, which had sweat through the paper to a marring extent anyhow. Riley, of all people had been his saving grace, guiding his cart with the tug of a hand to the mall's various sections.

And that was another concern, his loud mouth pest of a grandchild lacked his usual personality. Like a deflated balloon he sulked. When Robert asked him to do the dishes he undertook the assignment without complaint, a rarity.

The old man leaned back in his seat, crooking his head to peer into the kitchen. The kid was still there, working steadily.

There was a knock on the door, and Robert jumped, startled out of his thoughts. Too many people had been running in and out of his life as of late. The knock came again, louder and hurried - like from someone who wasn't used to waiting.

Robert swore beneath his breath and knew he wouldn't be able to control his temper if it was Thugnificent 'delivering' the wrong package so he could get a free lunch, or Ruckus wanting to brag about his many jobs while failing to fix the water heater.

Before answering the continued rapping on his door, he glanced at the mirror, running his hands through what little hair he had left and straightening his sweater. What if it was a pretty lady? Or a police officer trying to dig for more information on Huey? They had already interrogated him and Riley for hours, their lack of foul play should be beyond a doubt!

A second look to Riley, who was still scrubbing pots with uncharacteristic diligence, and he nodded, taking in a sharp breath.

He opened the door, and was face to face with..Ed Wuncler the third?

"Shit, it's bout' time! I'm freezin' my ass off out here!" The man shoved his way past Robert and into the house, rubbing his hands together. Behind him was the red-haired police officer, face flushed in the early spring air and sunglasses shielding his eyes. Holding his hand was Jazmine, the little girl looking like she hadn't showered or slept in days. Her tired, sad eyes met his and she mustered a weak smile. "Hello Mr. Freeman."

It was enough to melt his heart.

Robert shut the door, then turned to address the pair, Ed having gone and begun raiding their fridge.

Jazmine dimly glanced around the home, then let her gaze slip to the floor, where it remained. Officer Carter removed his sunglasses, his shoulders lacking their usual tension despite the line between his brows. In an action similar to a toddler, the ten-year-old girl raised her arms up, and the police man tucked his glasses in his shirt pocket, lifting her from her armpits and holding her. Her cheek rested against the man's shoulder, arms around his neck.

He spoke around the action, "I know this visit is unexpected, but no one answered your phone." The old man blushed, suspecting - though he'd never admit it - that he had broken the device after repeated drops. He had been using it in states of high stress and anger during this last week, and that had led to a spike in the mistreatments.

"Yes, sorry about that, damn thing must be busted."

If Carter disapproved of his swearing around the child, he didn't show it.

Ed rejoined the adults with his mouth stuffed, chewing noisily and taking a swig of orange juice straight from the container. Robert plastered a polite smile. _It just had to be to fresh squeezed stuff from Sam's Club didn't it?_ He let the behavior slide, not wanting to offend the grandson of the man who owned the bank that owned his house.

Officer Carter raised an eyebrow at man, then shook his head, opening his mouth to speak. "The situation has changed, and - off the record - I'm relieved. Jazmine needs a stable home, and Ms. Higgins was not the woman for the job."

Outside, beams of sunlight broke through the clouds, and Robert felt his confusion begin to fade. "You're saying she can stay?"

Carter nodded, and Ed leaned back, shrugging his oversized winter coat from his shoulders and let it hang from his elbows. "Shiiitt, that bitch was crazy as a motha fucka." Ed wiped his nose on the back of his hands, then rubbed the moisture against his jeans.

Carter grunted in agreement, "Real piece of work."

"You knew her?" Robert asked Ed, curious.

"Aiye it happened like dis, ya know? My man Gin an' I went to bail my weed guy: so he could reinvent hisself and pursue a betta life and shit-"

Robert was sure half that sentence was for the benefit of the officer beside them, and not at all true. It was irrelevant either way, as the man went into the kitchen and had a dead-eyed Riley show him the way to Jazmine's work-in-progress bedroom. Huey's absence and the uncertainty of actual custody postponing the remodel.

"-and fuck there was this bitch was all ova me n' shit, and ain't gon' lie she was sexy in a hillbilly sorta way, until I saw her teeth I gotta goddamn tragedy. Anyway, I try ta' dip outta there but this bitch followed us to Rummy's crib, an' she fuckin' started talkin' she in love n' shit. I tell her I ain't takin' care of no kids, cause you know I ain't gettin' involved in nobody elses family shit, and she says she'd ditch 'er to make a niggah happy."

He paused, and stared off to the side, his eyes squinted in a way that reflected deep thoughts, but knowledge of Ed's intelligence signified otherwise. Still, it was the most Robert had ever seen him express, and it unnerved him. He wanted the grandson of the man who owned his house to like him, sure, but he didn't want his emotional baggage. Robert was missing his soaps for god's sake, he had done enough charity for a lifetime.

Ed spoke again, trusting his free hand deep into pockets of saggin pants, slouching in a way that conflicted with his economic class. "It ain't like I care or nothin', but chu gotta least pretend you like the kid."

Robert was reminded of their first meeting, how Ed had almost immediately warmed to his youngest Grandson and entertained him. He had the tough, wigger act going for him, if it even was an act, but deep inside he had a soft spot for kids.

Carter returned without Jazmine, thumbs tucked beneath his belt and his freckled face stoic. He was likely just as tired as the old man, having been assigned to care for the girl. Riley wasn't with him, but a clamoring in the kitchen signal the boys dutiful, out of character, return to his chores.

"-So, I was like _biiiitttccchhh!_ " Ed spat, sucking Robert back into the story. He didn't care about what happened to Ashley, he had been around too many crazy women for that, his empathy was dry. Robert just wanted, more than anything at the moment, to take a load off with a glass of boxed wine - all his white neighbors were drinking it - and watch his soaps until he fell into a deep sleep. Life wasn't right without a good nap.

Ed's story continued on for the next ten minutes, Robert glancing from Carter's unimpressed expression and Ed's theatrics. He had difficulty making sense of the story, but with each clarity lacking point the heir to the Wuncler fortune bounced and flailed his arms.

"And after alla dat, the bitch gets arrested for trespassing and she done it so many times before, they sendin' her back to her home state!"

Robert cackled. "Yeah-boy! That crazy bitch is out of our lives, whoopee!"

Carter smiled at the laughing pair, an action that reminded Robert that there was a white officer in his home and he needed to be on his best, ass kissing behavior.

"Sorry officer, I forgot to mind my manners. Would you care for some cheese?" The dairy product was his 'go to', his ace in the hole. The only issue was how millennials sometimes got hooked on wild diets. Behind him, Ed took a noisy, sloshing swig of orange juice, and Granddad sent out a prayer to the lord above to keep him for committing a grave, violent sin against his rude neighbor.

"No thanks," The officer declined. "I'm going dairy free this month."

And naturally the officer was one of the hippy millennials who couldn't eat normal foods, to Robert's great dismay.

Carter turned to the elder fully, his smile gone. "Any word on your eldest?" He asked.

The older man adjusted his glasses, then shook his head. "You'd know better than me, because of all the trouble he gets into they're keeping me in the dark."

The redhead nodded, his sunken, pale eyes shone. "The boys at the station don't know whether to make the case a federal or local issue. It's a mess. The feds came before they got official jurisdiction and nobody knows who to listen to. Are we looking for a rogue domestic terrorist, or a lost child?" He sighed, gaze flitting down to his narrow reflection on his shined shoes. "I'm not a detective, so it's not like I have any business nosing through the case. I guess I'm just worried about her."

"Jazmine?"

Again, he nodded. The corners of his mouth twitched, but in a smile or grimace Granddad wasn't sure. "I've been in her place, as I'm sure you have. We all lose someone eventually, but at such an age..."

"Shit, she'll be okay." Ed interjected, suddenly out of his bubble and aware of the other two. "The kid's smart, and it ain't like nobody cares for her. She got the Freemans, so she'll be aight."

Robert wouldn't think of it until much later, when the sun had set and Ed was long gone, but he hadn't ever heard mention of the boy's mother. The thought would be dismissed as it occurred, but it unknowingly softened his impression of the man-child. We all lose somebody.

"She has two Freemans." Carter corrected sternly. "And by our detailed files on Huey, we gathered she was close to him, right?"

Robert frowned. It wasn't his business who the boys spent their time with. He just wanted them out of the house. He couldn't say that aloud, however, if he wanted to retain custody of Jazmine.

"They were...inseparable." He supplied, thinking back to how often she would visit his room, or ask for him at the door. It was never Riley she inquired after. "Like glue."

Carter's walkie-talkie buzzed, and he shifted, his guarded, professional 'I-lock-people-up-for-a-living' expression in place. "I will be checking in at random, just protocol. Take care Mr. Freeman, I hope they find your grandson."

He left, and Ed followed, dropping the almost empty container to the floor. "Shit, I ain't staying neither."

The door shut and Robert groaned, rubbing his temples. "Goddamn white folks. RILEY," He yelled, old habits are accessed easier than the knowledge of the current situation. He was too old to tip toe for weeks around his grandson. Too old and tired.

"Come pick up this mess!"

He walked to the first-floor guest room, Jazmine's room, and knocked on the door. It creaked open from the force, and the girl was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

He paused, hesitant for lack or certainty, then entered. "Hey little baby, you want mac and cheese for dinner?" She didn't look at him, and Granddad worried his voice had been too soft.

Then a shrug. Followed by a nod and a turn of her head.

Their gazes met, his concerned beneath a forced smile, the most difficult one he'd ever had to fake; hers wet and shining filled with more emotions than he could handle.

She burst into tears, and Robert froze, horrified.

He remembered when Sarah kicked Tom out, and the man stayed at their home, in this very room for a few days. Those tears were painfully similar, and he crossed the room, cautiously patting her on the back.

She sobbed harder, hardly able to breathe past her wheezing.

His heart seized, and he felt the illogical need to apologize. "I'm sorry baby girl, that's the best I can do." He bailed. "I guess I'll get the stove going then..y-you just come out when you're ready."

The little girl nodded, then pulled her knees to her chest. Robert shut the door, and prayed to god for the second time that day, asking for things to get easier.

"Why me?" He mumbled as he walked back to the kitchen.

* * *

It took longer than any of the three would admit to grow accustomed to the silence.

Huey was never a talkative member of the family, not when the customary response to his spoken word was a dismissal. It was easy to ignore the child, to grow irritated when his arguments became relentless, when he wouldn't close his mouth and stop his barrage of wavering vocal cords.

When he wasn't perched atop a self-righteous soapbox he was reading. Books, newspapers, the occasional online article. He would sit in quiet and keep to himself, until the ideas he caught in his strainer consolidated and there was no room left to keep them contained.

Without him, the home felt empty. His bed touched only by window light. His books still beneath their coating of dust. The vegetables in the fridge were thrown out, rotten to slime. The newspapers remained bagged and folded at the front door, soiled as presperation collected.

It warmed outside, the sun lengthening the days and coats being exchanged for shorts. Inside, Huey's jacket hung on the coat rack, beside his unused bookbag.

The remaining members of the family, the grandson and his elder, failed to break the silence.

The Freeman clan wasn't a sentimental bunch. They didn't recite 'I love yous' or discuss their feelings. Nostalgia and the fondness of holiday traditions weren't shared, and the three had a disconnect from one another, founded in their misunderstood principles. Without the reserved, quiet member, the other two had no one to mock. They no longer were joined by their shared bewilderment of Huey. Youth and elderly were divided at a sharper angle than ever before.

If they would reach out, try to bridge the gap and comfort one another in their grief, in their confusion and dread that the missing member of their broken family would ever be found, then perhaps words could be shared.

Instead conversations faltered and topics of discussion fumbled and tripped over empty spaces that had before been occupied.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if there wasn't the stranger. The new member of the family who was lost in a recent grief so that it isolated her from them. It had already been hard to cross into each other's world, but the way was lost with a person who understood less about the two of them than they did towards one another.

Everything was wrong. The course to a normal day's happiness was obscured by fog. Clairvoyance was an impossibility undone only when throats weren't caught in tightened confusion and doubt.

Where Jazmine sat was where no one would've sit, or worse, where he had sat. If she left her room and they crossed in the halls, it was a challenge to hold gazes. When she spoke, it was both a relief that the silence was gone, and a ignition of panic to respond.

What should have been said, what still could be said was held in check because the time for speaking was racing past them at a rate that left little chance. The possibility existed, but how to create bonds, to preserve what there had once been and find it again was unanswered. The opportunity for conversation and healing swept past their delay.

No one was prepared for this.

They blamed themselves and shouldn't have. Who could prepare for the tragedy of an unused toothbrush?

Of a seat at the table which wasn't empty, but should've been.

Jazmine was aware of the effect she had, or as aware as a child could've been. She was thankful to be with the Freemans, with the remaining two at least, and she tried to be strong.

Ashley was everything her mother rejected, everything she feared she'd become. Jazmine, however young, understood why she hadn't ever met her aunt the instant she laid eyes on her, and it hurt her deeply.

 _I'm afraid,_ she thought, staring into blue eyes drenched with horrible, echoing nostalgia and regret. _But not of my future, I'm afraid of the future of their memories if she sweeps me away. Will it all disappear? If so, will I too vanish? A shattered shell of everything they thought I would become?_ Tears slowly fell, and she clenched her fists in the face of her broken oath. She had promised not to cry anymore, to keep her head held high for Riley, and Mr. Freeman. Shamefully she covered her eyes, feeling the liquid roll down her hands, drip from her chin, and slide over her arms. _This woman doesn't care about what food I like or how warm I am or how well I slept. She doesn't want to try to love me, and that makes her the worse of all._

She was thankful to be with the Freemans, but the idea did little to ease her grief. In a way, it worsened it. The family was too close to where her life had been, and sometimes she would wake and think it had been a sleep over, and her mother would be picking her up and her Daddy would be picking up donuts, their Sunday morning tradition.

No donuts, no knock on the door, no laughter as her parent scooped her into their arms and spun her about.

Just, silence, filling the exposed, empty places between them.

* * *

 **EndNote: [don't worry, I'll keep this short.] Thank you for the reviews, and your patience. There is happiness and fun times on the way, I promise. I wouldn't be doing Tom and Sarah justice if it let their revoked positions in the story go undressed, so for a little bit we gotta be sad. The story is far, far from over, so the sadness won't last, but it won't be gone for ever either.**

 **I have a poll on my profile, just for fun. It covers the topic of Huey's departure, where did he go, I wonder?**


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